Memento Mori
by Mnemosyne77
Summary: A magical attack leaves everyone in the Kingdom without their memories. Set end of Season 1.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N Do you ever get that feeling of deja vu? Nightmare course is coming to an end (I only have my big research project to finish) so I finally have a little bit of time to work on my stories. Yay! I'm starting Memento Mori again but the first two chapters will only have minor changes. Enjoy.**

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An ordinary day

_Merlin_

"Merlin!" cried Arthur as the stones broke apart beneath his feet.

"Arthur!" screamed Merlin as he ran frantically toward the Prince, the bedroom floor cracking slowly beneath his feet as he ran.

"Hold the walls," commanded Arthur, "stop it falling apart."

Merlin grabbed one his bedposts and reached out to grab the wall just as the room tilted away from the castle and crashed onto the hard ground below. He stood up and saw Arthur try to gain his feet then stumble and fall as if with a broken ankle.

"I have to get you to a physician," he said, as he looped his arm around his Prince.

"Merlin?" a curious voice sounded beside him. He turned and saw Morgana standing there in her nightgown, a large black bird on her shoulder.

"Morgana? I mean, milady. Arthur's chambers fell off the castle and he hurt his ankle. I need to get him to see Gaius."

"Gaius is gone," said Morgana calmly. "He just left and he's never coming back."

"But what am I going to do with Arthur? If I don't get him to a physician he'll be permanently injured and will never be able to kill anything again."

Morgana shrugged as if it was unimportant then leaned forward conspiratorially.

"Merlin?" she whispered, "what are you doing in my dream? And... why are you naked?"

Merlin looked down and dropped Arthur in horror at realising he had not a stitch of clothing on him.

"I...I...I," he stuttered.

Morgana leaned forward closer, shook him and said, "honestly, Merlin, can't you ever wake up on time?"

Merlin woke up with a disoriented start until he realised that Gaius had him gently by the shoulders and was shaking him awake.

"Honestly, Merlin, is it so hard to expect you to wake yourself on time. You're going to be late."

"I... ugh... I," stammered Merlin.

"Indeed," agreed Gaius in exasperation, "now come on. You told Arthur you'd help him get ready for the hunt today and it's already pre-dawn. He'll want to ride out as soon as the sun comes over the horizon."

"Ergh," protested Merlin and he sank back down into his hard pillow and tried to draw the thin blanket over himself again.

"And then," continued Gaius firmly as he dragged the blanket off his charge, "then you have to help me with my rounds and _then_ Gwen has asked for your help this afternoon. Or have you forgotten?"

Merlin's eyes drifted to the window where the promise of a warm, clear, summer's day was beginning to gleam on the horizon.

"Fine," he said resignedly and crawled out of bed, "but if I collapse from exhaustion you'll feel really bad about it."

Gaius just gave him an affection pat on his shoulder and handed him a warm roll with butter.

"Go. You can rest later this evening. I promise."

Merlin gave him a quick grin. "Thanks Gaius, but this afternoon there's that Knightly award ceremony thing and I have to tend Arthur at the feast afterwards, so..."

Gaius shook his head and gave the young man a sympathetic smile. Then he went back to his own chores as Merlin scampered off to his busy day.

_

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Arthur

Arthur paced around his chambers in the candlelight as the sun began slowly to rise outside his window. He'd finally decided to just dress himself but if that buffoon of a manservant didn't show up soon...

"Morning, Arthur," a breezy voice called as Merlin came bustling in, "I got your breakfast from the kitchens and it's all ready for you to eat on the road. Also, your horses are ready and..."

Arthur opened his mouth to remind his wayward servant that he was once again late then closed it again resignedly.

"I suppose that's something," he conceded, "we won't be too late."

"Ah, we?" Merlin queried him, "ah no, there's no 'we' today. You see, Gaius..."

"Merlin, you are my servant not Gaius'. Do you want to tell me how I am expected to go hunting without my servant? Who'll hold the horses? Who'll skin the catch? Who'll...?"

"...thrash around like a complete idiot and scare all the prey away?" finished Merlin with a grin.

"I said I needed a servant, not a _competent_ servant," said Arthur dryly.

"Weeelll, since the last time we went hunting you told me that you would take me on another hunt when Hades became a frozen wasteland I thought that..."

"You thought? Merlin, we've talked about you thinking. It's not a good idea. Now get ready."

"But... I... already arranged for... Robert... to go in my place," added Merlin cautiously.

"Robert? Sir Leon's manservant?"

"Umm hum," confirmed Merlin.

"Umph," said Arthur, not willing to admit that the fit and well-trained Robert was probably a better companion for the hunt anyway.

"Fine. I suppose I won't throw you in the stocks... yet... well, don't just stand there," he added impatiently, "grab my gear and let's get me loaded up. I have things to kill and not nearly enough time. And don't forget to go to my fitting with Gwen this afternoon. You should know my size by now. And make sure you dress in your official robes for the ceremony this afternoon."

"Yes, Arthur," sighed Merlin in resignation.

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Morgana

Morgana woke slowly to the industrious bustling sounds of Gwen in her chamber. It was just past dawn and she could hear the melodic sound of bird calls and Arthur yelling at Merlin from the courtyard.

She smiled to herself at the familiar sound and then laughed softly at the memory of the crazy dream she'd had.

"Are you awake, My Lady?" asked Gwen in a kind voice.

"Yes, Gwen," she replied, "just enjoying a little lie in. I had a... very strange dream last night."

"Oh no," said Gwen sympathetically, "nightmares again?"

"Far from it. In fact, it was quite amusing. You see...," Morgana suddenly remembered that this dream involved a very naked servant and stopped short, "Ah, you see... oh, it was too weird to explain. It made perfect sense while I was asleep though."

"Well, you lie in," suggested Gwen, "you don't have to do anything until the reception this afternoon with the King."

"Oh yes, awarding our brave Knights for being fantastic killers. I know _I_ can't wait," Morgana noted dryly.

"My Lady," chided Gwen, a bit shocked, "Prince Arthur and Sir Leon are receiving those awards."

"Your point being?" asked Morgana ironically. And then she rolled over into bed and pondered Arthur's bedchamber breaking up and falling off the castle. Strange dream. And Merlin, naked... strange dream. It was almost as though it was _his_ nightmare and she'd just wandered into it.

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Gwen

Gwen walked back to her little house greeting friends and acquaintances every few steps. It was a beautiful day and the denizens of Camelot were thronging the streets on the way to the local produce market or off to enjoy the wilderness outside of the city's gates.

A young man named Derek, who she'd recently come to suspect admired her, came up and gave her a small bouquet of wildflowers. She smiled and accepted them gratefully, even though she had little affection for the boy. He was sweet, she supposed, but kind of wiry with bird-like eyes and a chicken neck.

It was all she could do not to laugh openly as she remembered Merlin once calling him 'fowl boy' as much for his rather potent body odour as his resemblance to poultry.

"Merlin, that's cruel," she'd chided him but had laughed nonetheless. She smiled at the memory now even as she felt a small twinge of shame at being so cruel to the boy who had just picked her flowers.

She walked into her home and sat down at her table and began to sew. She had only a few hours now before Merlin came by to help her with her fittings and she needed both Arthur's and Sir Kay's suit of clothes to be far more advanced by then. She began humming as she settled down into a rhythm and barely noticed the passage of time until Merlin began banging on her front door.

"Gwen! I'm here. Gwen, are you there?"

"Merlin, please, have some patience," she scolded him but she couldn't stop an amused smile.

"Here, I brought you some lunch," he said and he handed her some meat, cheese and bread as he came through the door. "I'm late and I thought that..."

"Late?" she seized on this admission and then looked out the door and saw the sun was well past its height, "oh Merlin, it must be at least three hours past midday. How did I miss the afternoon bell? The ceremony is at five."

She looked around at the two sets of clothing and pursed her lips in thought.

"Arthur's first, he'll be the angriest, and then I'll need your help with Sir Kay's. He doesn't need his till the morrow and Arthur needs his for tonight. Now, height first then proportions then..."

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Morgana

Morgana adjusted the emerald green dress and looked with approval at her reflection in the mirror.

"You look lovely, My Lady," said the maid that attended her, "but don't you think that, on this occasion, you should wear something a little less..."

"Revealing?" asked Morgana archly as she surveyed her bare shoulders and the slight curve of breast rising above the bodice. "No. If I have to sit through a ghastly ceremony to celebrate how many unarmed so-called 'sorcerers' our Knights have slaughtered recently then I will at least have some..." she smoothed the clinging satin down around her hips and smirked at her reflection, "fun."

Then she looked at the door and scowled.

"I'm sure the Prince will be here shortly," the maid tried to comfort her.

"Maybe he will but I won't be waiting. If he's not willing to show up on time to escort me I'll simply go by myself."

She left the room, striding confidently down the halls and into the Great Hall where the Kings, the Knights and courtiers were gathered for the ceremony. Nearly a dozen male jaws dropped at her entrance and she smiled inwardly, while pointedly ignoring all of them, as she entered the room.

She looked for Gwen who was supposed to come straight to the Hall after her afternoon of sewing but she wasn't there. Arthur was also missing and... yes... his gangly little servant wasn't anywhere to be seen either.

"My Lady," Sir Gawain greeted her and she smiled back at him archly, "may I procure you a glass of wine?"

She simply nodded her assent and watched him stride off. Once his back was turned she smiled. Maybe this little event wasn't going to be as awful as she'd imagined.

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Arthur

Honestly, thought Arthur, as he crawled naked through the brushes toward the camp where the bandits that had stolen all his goods were sitting around celebrating their success, why do these things always seem to happen to _me_?

Discover a magical threat to the Kingdom and then get attacked by bandits? What were the odds? Well, he was getting his things back if he had to kill every last... he saw one of the bandits snigger as he threw the Prince's rainments on the fire and watched them burn.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me," said Arthur. He looked at Robert crawling along behind him; his peasant rags slightly torn and muddy but still intact.

Robert saw his expression, looked confused for a moment, and then managed an expression of resigned acceptance.

"Oh fine," he muttered and began stripping off, "but next time Merlin asks me for a favour..."

"You'll say yes," ordered Arthur.

"You're closer to my size."

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Merlin

"Right," declared Gwen as she tied off the last tiny stitch in the leg. Arthur's new clothes were already completed and ready for their owner but he was late back from his hunt, which had given her time to finish off Sir Kay's robes as well.

"So, what do you want me to do?" asked Merlin, confused as to why he was still there.

"Try them on for me," Gwen said, "you're Sir Kay's size."

"Oh," said Merlin and he looked around the tiny room. "Um..."

"I won't look," Gwen reassured him with an amused look.

Merlin waited until her back was turned and then quickly tore off his clothes and put on the new suit of clothes.

"Um, ok," said Merlin nervously, "I mean, you can turn back around."

Gwen swung back around, still amused at Merlin's modesty.

"Wow," she said with a slightly stunned look on her face, "Merlin... wow. I mean... blue and black really suit you. You look... really good. I mean, not that you don't normally look good... because of course, you do... look good... I mean... not... not that I've _looked_... or anything... of course not... I haven't _looked_... what I mean is..."

"Gwen, it's alright," Merlin stopped her with a grin, "they're beautiful clothes, that's all. You've done a wonderful job. I'm sure Kay will be very impressed."

"Thank you, Merlin," she said grateful for the compliment. "Now, I have no idea where our errant prince is but..."

"You will get out of my way! Don't you recognise your Prince!"

Merlin and Gwen ran to the door and looked out into the street where Arthur, in dirty servant's dress, and a very embarrassed Robert with only a blanket wrapped around him were striding down the street flanked by guards who appeared to be trying to stop them.

"Arthur!"

Merlin and Gwen met them in the street and Arthur simply glared at his servant.

"We need to see my father immediately."

"But the ceremony," protested Merlin, "your clothes..."

"Unimportant. Camelot is in grave danger and I have to warn everyone."

Merlin and Gwen led the way to the castle, with Merlin explaining to guards along the path that the poorly-dressed man behind him really was their Prince until they finally reached the Great Hall. They burst into the room to find Uther placing a gold sash around Sir Leon in recognition of his achievements.

"Arthur," he said curiously as his son stepped through the doors. He moved away from the throne and walked up to stop in front of Merlin. Morgana, curious, joined him, barely registering that Merlin was for some reason dressed as a noble.

"What is the meaning of this?" demanded Uther. "Why have you come before the Court...," he gestured to Arthur's muddy rags, "dressed liked _that_."

"Father, I was attacked by bandits while out hunting, which delayed me from returning. I need to warn everyone. I have discovered that..."

Merlin looked past Uther and noticed a strange bright blue light had appeared in the corner and the beam was expanding out into the room.

"Ah... Arthur," he said. The King and the Prince ignored him. Morgana followed his gaze.

"Arthur!" Merlin insisted.

"What? Merlin, what? I am your Prince. When will you learn not to interr... Gods, what is that?"

The light began to sweep the Great Hall moving back and forward in a zigzagging motion as though in a search pattern to ensure it found everyone.

It passed through Merlin and he stopped for a minute and looked around the Hall, noticing the looks of confusion on everyone's faces that no doubt mirrored his own.

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Someone

He looked down at his fine and no doubt expensive blue and black suit of clothing and then out to the room of strangers.

"I don't know who any of you are," he said, looking in terror at the unfamiliar faces staring back at him. There was a roughly-dressed and very dirty blonde man beside him and a well-dressed older man in front of him.

"I... I don't know who I am," he admitted.

The dirty man, obviously a servant of some kind, looked at him in shock.

"I don't know who I am either."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N Shout out to a certain Star Trek TNG episode from which I blatantly stole some imagery... again only a few minor changes. The real changes will come about in ch3.**

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Chapter 2

Morgana accepted the drink from Sir Gawain and was trying to graciously move on to her next conquest when the doors clattered open and Arthur strode in wearing the dirty clothes of a peasant; Merlin, Gwen and a rather disconsolate Robert who was, for some reason, wearing only a blanket, following after him.

"Arthur," Uther queried his son curiously as he stepped through the doors. He moved away from the throne and walked up to stop in front of Merlin. Morgana, curious, joined him; barely registering that Merlin was for some reason dressed as a noble.

"What is the meaning of this?" demanded Uther. "Why have you come before the Court...," he gestured to Arthur's muddy rags, "dressed liked _that_."

"Father, I was attacked by bandits while out hunting, which delayed me from returning. I need to warn everyone. I have discovered that..."

Morgana saw Merlin look past Uther and focus his eyes in the corner of the room.

"Ah... Arthur," he said. The King and the Prince ignored him but Morgana heard something in his tone that made her follow his gaze. She saw a blue light in the corner expanding into the room.

"Arthur!" Merlin insisted.

"What? Merlin, what? I am your Prince. When will you learn not to interr... Gods, what is that?"

The light began to sweep the Great Hall moving back and forward in a zigzagging motion as though in a search pattern to ensure it found everyone. For some strange reason, it reminded Morgana of the room falling off the castle in her dream and she was suddenly so deathly afraid that she reached out and grabbed Merlin's hand in her own.

Then the light passed through her and she stopped for a minute and looked around the Hall, noticing the looks of confusion on everyone's faces that no doubt mirrored her own.

* * *

"Who are you people?"

"Who am I?"

"Where are we?"

"Do you know me? I don't remember who I am."

"What's going on?"

"What have you done to me?"

"Done to you? It's been done to all of us."

"I don't remember anything. Does anybody remember anything?"

"Who's in charge here?"

"Am _I_ in charge here?"

"Our memories are gone. Who cares about who's in charge?"

"Well, I think it's the most important issue," said the man. He was standing near the doors in a fine suit of clothes and with a golden crown on his head. "I think it should be me. After all, I do have this...," he took the crown off his head and considered it, "gold thing on my head. That means I'm the leader."

"I wouldn't be so quick to jump to that conclusion," said another man, "I am also decorated with this sash. It's possible I'm the leader and the crown is just decorative."

"You dare suggest that a sash could denote more status than a crown of gold," argued the man with the crown of gold.

"I suggest that it may. We don't know. I hardly think you're in a position to just claim leadership because of a pretty bauble on your head."

"_Bauble,_" seethed the crown man and he took a threatening step in the sash man's direction, "you call this a _bauble_, you..."

"Listen," intervened the man dressed in filthy torn clothing, "I know that everybody is upset and afraid, but I think that working out what happened to us is more important than arguments over who is in charge."

"Well, you would say that," said the crown man dismissively, "It's obvious you're a peasant."

"It's true he's just a peasant but he has a point," said an elegantly-dressed, if somewhat angular, man who for some reason was holding the hand of a very beautiful woman. "if you're sure you want someone to be in charge... maybe a vote?"

"A vote!" the sash man and the crown man cried in derisive unison, "we can't trust such an important decision to a vote."

"If you expect people to follow your orders, I don't see how we can do anything else," interjected the emerald-green woman in a commanding voice.

"Well, you would say that," said the crown man dismissively, "since you're _holding hands_ with the man who suggested it."

"Are you going to find shallow reasons to ignore the opinion of anyone who doesn't agree with you?" asked a dusky-skinned servant who was standing behind the other peasant, "or are you going to let us work together to find out what happened to us?"

"We're going to decide who's in charge so we can have some order," demanded the crown man.

"Apparently, the answer to your question is option a," said the tall black-and-blue man to the dusky-skinned woman. She smiled broadly at him and the emerald woman scowled at her. She didn't know who she was or who the man beside her was or... anything, actually... but she must have been holding hands with him for a reason and no maidservant was going to start flirting with him right in front of her.

"I suggest we try and find out who we are," said the blue-black man with a comforting squeeze of the hand in his.

"Are there any clues? Parchments? Books? Tapestries? We seem to be in a hall of some kind. A... throne room," he pointed to the three thrones at the back, "that means... royalty. A castle?"

The emerald woman looked around the room pensively.

"How do we know what things like a throne, a parchment and a room are if we don't know our names?"

"Good question," said the dirty peasant man, "how do I know that these," he gestured to his clothes, "mean I'm a commoner of some kind? How do I even know what a commoner is?"

"But we don't know what... symbols... mean someone is the leader, almost as though someone wanted us disorganised," mused the blue-black man.

"I think the gold crown is pretty conclusive, actually," said the man with the gold crown.

"Alright, enough with the gold crown," said the dirty peasant man, "if you keep arguing about it, I'm going to claim power myself. Who's to say I'm not the rightful heir in disguise?"

"Rightful heir in disguise?" said the blue-black man with a somewhat-excessive sarcastic tone to his voice, "more like the heir to the local dung heap."

"You'd better be careful how you speak to me," warned the peasant," I have some significant muscles under this dirt, you know. I could take you out in one blow."

"I can take you out in less than that," threatened the blue-black man.

"Please," intervened the dusky-skinned servant girl, "please don't fight."

"She's right," said the emerald woman, moving her arm to the blue-black man's shoulder to calm him and then taking his hand again, "let's focus on..."

"Maybe we should give each other names?" suggested the dusky-skinned servant. She looked out to the rest of the room where the other fifty or so people seemed willing to wait until the arguments of the core group had been settled. "That way we'll at least have something to call each other."

"Moor," suggested the blue-black man to the dusky-skinned servant, "for your exotic features."

She blushed and the emerald woman glared again, this time at him.

"You can call me King," said the crown man.

"Fine, you can call me Emperor," said the sash man.

"How about I call you Crown and Sash," suggested the peasant dryly.

"Emerald," said the blue-black man to the woman in the emerald dress, "for your sparkling beauty."

Emerald decided she forgave him.

"Your hair is black like some kind of bird," she noted, "maybe a crow? No, a crow is too... militant. A raven?"

"Or the Blue Tit," suggested the peasant sarcastically.

"Oh hark, it's the Golden Prat," countered Raven.

"Um, excuse me," called out a ginger-haired man in his early thirties near the throne. He seemed in no way concerned that he had just caused the dirty peasant to be called 'The Prat' permanently.

"I might be able to shed some light on this."

He pulled out a piece of parchment and waved it towards them.

"I have a letter in my pocket. It's opened so I assume it's addressed _to_ me. My name is apparently Gaius and I am the Chief Physician and an advisor to the King. The letter speaks of some sort of new magical weapon that a neighbouring Kingdom called Mercia has developed."

"A magical weapon?" asked the Prat, "what kind of magical weapon?"

"It doesn't say. It just says that this... Mercia... has managed to defeat several larger Kingdoms with this weapon almost overnight and suggests that we form an army and attack before they can destroy us as well."

"This weapon... it must be what they used on us to take our memories," declared Crown, "who is this letter from?"

"One of our spies in Mercia. He speaks of our Kingdom's mortal enemy King Bayard plotting to overthrow Camelot – that must be our Kingdom's name – and installing himself as ruler."

"Monstrous," exclaimed Sash. He turned to Crown. "You know what we must do?"

Crown nodded. "We must do a quick Census of this place and find out who are our fighting men. And then we must attack Mercia as soon as possible. Maybe when all of them are dead our memories will return."

"That's an insane plan," said Emerald angrily, "we don't even know who we are. We can't start a war based on some piece of parchment."

"I'm very uncomfortable with this idea," agreed the Prat.

"Commoners have no say in these matters," stated Sash baldly, "Prat, Moor and the other servants, you find us some quarters to sleep in and some food to eat. The time for arguments is over. Leave the important decisions to us nobles."

"Raven," continued Crown, "you are obviously a man of some status. I want you to organise a Census. Find out how many are in this Kingdom, who are trained fighters, and see if anyone still has their memories. We can't mount a war effort without a good idea of our resources."

Raven looked unimpressed by the plan but nodded nonetheless. The Prat rolled his eyes.

"I'll help you, if you like," volunteered Emerald, taking Raven's hand in both of hers.

"I'd be... grateful for our help," acknowledged Raven.

"If you two have finished staring into each other's eyes, you can come with us and find a library or something. It might tell us the layout of the Castle for us _servants_ to use and help you with your Census."

"Good idea, Prat," said Raven superciliously, "lead the way."

"Can I say something?" said a lone voice all of a sudden. All of them looked around to find the voice of a man wrapped in a blanket.

"Does anybody know why I'm naked?"


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N For people who read the beginning of this fic the first time round – don't worry, nothing's been cut. Just rearranged.**

**Thanks be to Tianne for the beta.**

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Chapter 3

He looked around the confused chaos of the throne room and grinned a small tight grin. The king was still arguing vociferously with Sir Leon about who was in charge and Arthur and Merlin, unable to remember their positions or the latter's magic, had gone off to set in motion a plan for war.

Oh, glorious war. It had been so easy in the end. Almost too easy. Camelot at war with Mercia. Nothing could be more perfect. She was going to be so pleased.

* * *

The halls were filled with the dazed and confused: servants and members of the court all milling around in muddled disarray. Through the throng, Raven, Emerald, Moor and the Prat wove their way through easily with the still-nameless blanket-clad man trailing disconsolately behind them.

Having been overlooked for a name, he had tried to choose one for himself but every one he thought of, he soon realised, was also a colloquial term for a certain part of his anatomy that was, at this present time, in regular danger of being revealed to the world.

"How about Blankie?" asked the Prat with a grin that Raven thought was decidedly... prattish.

Blankie tried to think of an appropriate retort but the words died in his throat as they walked passed a large window onto the courtyard and he caught a glimpse of the outside world.

"Raven!" he called.

The tall, thin man looked back and then turned and walked to the window as well, taking Emerald with him as he went.

"It's chaos out there," said Blankie, his voice quivering slightly as he watched hysterical men and women milling about, fighting, crying and yelling. A murder of crows perched on gargoyles as though surveying the madness below.

"Whoever did this to us wanted exactly this outcome," noted Emerald, grimly. "We're disorganised and defenceless."

Raven and the Prat both nodded and a look passed between them.

"We need to reassure people and find a way to restore order," said the Prat.

"Finding out how this happened and who's responsible would be more helpful," argued Raven. "Come on. Either way, we need information."

"Who put you in charge?" muttered the Prat as they continued on through the castle.

"It's alright," said Raven as they came across group after group of upset courtiers, servants, and peasants, "there is a plan. We are doing our best to find out what's happened to us all. Please find a room appropriate to your station and stay there for the moment. We'll send somebody around to get some information on you later."

Emerald and Moor looked admiringly at his composure and the calm confidence with which he dealt with each of the confused parties until the Golden Prat finally rolled his eyes and rounded on them.

"Do you three mind? We have work to do. Although I have no idea how we're supposed to find the library when we have no idea where we are. And as for you two," he added, looking impatiently at Emerald and Raven. "Are you going to stop holding hands any time soon?"

The two brunettes looked down, at each other, and then at the Prat.

"No," they replied in unison.

"Not really," said Raven.

"Not yet," said Emerald.

"Fine," said the Prat resignedly, "but you don't have your memories. For all you know you could be enemies."

"Or you could be involved with somebody else," added Moor with a shy smile.

Emerald began planning the dusky servant's untimely death when she was interrupted by a... something... brushing against her mind.

She stopped short.

"This corridor is familiar," she said softly, "there's just... something..."

Emerald dropped Raven's hand then walked to a door and placed her hands on the wood. She ran her hands down to the doorknob then jiggled it in frustration.

"It's locked."

"If it's familiar, maybe you have a key," offered the Prat.

"Of course," she muttered and she looked at the small purse tied to her wrist with a green ribbon. She fished through it and drew out a key, put it into the lock and turned.

"It worked," she said happily.

"Good job, Prat," said Raven, albeit somewhat superciliously, "you're not as much of an idiot as you look."

"Oh thank you so much, noble sir," replied the Prat with a bow. "Now I really need to find the library. Are you coming?"

"I'll stay with Emerald and see if this room is familiar for a reason."

"You are supposed to be planning a census, if you remember."

"Why?" asked Raven, seriously, "So we can attack some kingdom we've never heard of in the hope that our memories will come back? I may not remember much but I do remember that war involves killing. A lot of killing. I think the longer it takes me to do this census the better for everyone."

"Something or someone must have taken our memories for a reason," noted Moor, "maybe it was this Mercia."

"And maybe something isn't right here," countered Raven, "and I should take some time to try and find out what. It's my duty as a nobleman and a member of the Court."

"In that case, coming to the library is still your best option," argued the Prat. "We need to know the layout of the castle, the town and the surrounding villages. There may be some text there that sheds some light on our situation."

"You go and read, Prat. Emerald and I will find out what's in this room."

"Fine, I'll go by myself then. Come on Moor."

"Ahhh," began Moor as the Prat launched himself back down the corridor, "I'd really rather...," she tried to call after him as she gestured to where Raven had followed Emerald into the room, "…oh, alright," she finished, resigned and followed after him.

Blankie stood for a minute in the corridor and then gave a resigned sigh and set off in search of some clothes.

"'Do we even know if we're going in the right direction?" asked Moor as she caught up with the Prat.

"No idea. And it's not as if we can ask anyone. Still, if I was designing a castle I'd have the chambers for the royal family nearest the throne room and then the chambers for the rest of the court, some sort of kitchens and servant quarters near the entertaining areas and then the physician's and library near the front gate..."

"...so people from the town could visit them if they needed to," finished Moor. "That makes sense. But that means..."

"Yes, if that was Emerald's bedchamber then if we go down this way we should find some sort of entertaining hall, the kitchens and then..."

"...and then," agreed Moor. "You're definitely much smarter than you look."

"And what does that mean?" asked the Prat, offended.

"Well... you look like one of those rough, tough, save the world kind of men. All muscles and no brain... no offense... I mean, I'm not saying you haven't got a brain... I mean I'm saying I actually think you have a good brain... you just don't look like you have a good brain... not that there's anything wrong with how you look, I mean, you look really good. Not that I think you look good. I mean, just generally, objectively speaking. You look good. But brainless."

"Ahhh, thanks," said the Prat cautiously. He pointed down the corridor. "Library?"

"Library," Moor agreed, glad that the sentence was finally over.

"So," she began cautiously after they'd moved a few more metres, "do you think Raven and Emerald are together. You know, like a couple."

"I'm not sure. Does it matter?"

"I suppose not," sighed Moor sadly, "after all he's a nobleman and I'm just a servant. Not that I'm interested. I mean, I'm just a servant. That would be silly. I'm not interested."

The Prat gave her a sideways look then rolled his eyes. _What is it with women and noble gits like Raven? Men like him get all the girls._


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N So, I had a debate as to whether to set this after the "The Labyrinth of Gedref" (so Gwen's Dad would be alive) or after "To Kill the King" (where Gwen's Dad would be dead but Merlin and Morgana's relationship in real life was slightly strained). I've put it after "Gedref".**

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Chapter 4

It was the fights she didn't understand.

She was a simple woman, it was true. Or at least she thought she must be. Her clothes were rough and well-worn but comfortable as though they'd had ample time to mould and shape themselves to the contours of her body.

Her grey hair was twisted into a serviceable bun and held up with bone - not ivory or precious stones. When she had begun – as she thought of it – her hands were plunged deep into a tub of soapy water and there were clothes clutched in her tanned, heavy-veined hands.

She'd looked around and seen the scrubbing board, the other women who looked as tired and blurry-eyed as her, and the drying clothes swinging in the wind. She wondered about the child she'd been: fresh-faced and eager or already resigned to the fate her birth had laid out for her? Either way, she was sure, whether in this new life or the last - the time before - she was born a washerwoman.

It had been late in the day when it had happened, when she had come to be. She'd looked up, hands sopping and soapy, at the crows perched on gargoyles framed by the late-afternoon sun.

It was warm. Summer then, she thought, although she did not stop to question how she knew what summer was. The sun would last another hour or two but then it would be dark and they had no place to stay, no idea of where they lived.

And that's when the fights began.

She and the other washerwomen had made tentative but successful overtures based on their commonality – they could see they were all the same. They needed to find food, shelter, safety, but all seemed convinced that someone would come and tell them what to do. They were all pretty sure that someone always had.

It was the men. Some armed. Some not. Some with blacksmith's tools and bulging biceps; some with swords and knives and even maces.

Some were dressed the same in what appeared to be uniforms. They were guards of some kind but the only thing they wanted to guard was the houses they found and the food. They banded together and began to roam the streets trying to find the most salubrious accommodations. Heaven help the people who were already inside.

They ignored the washerwoman as unimportant but some of the other men tried to stand up to them and that's when it began. The fighting. The brawling. The injury. The death.

The washerwoman looked up at the crows and shivered. They almost seemed to be enjoying it.

Then she went back to waiting for someone to tell her what to do.

* * *

The Golden Prat and Moor, heading for where they hoped the library would be and for the most part tolerating each other's company, began trying doors and investigating archways hoping to find quarters for the confused and frightened people milling about.

It had been late afternoon when... whatever had happened had happened. People would need food and quarters. The Prat thought for one moment of the madness that was likely unfolding in the city outside and then steeled himself to deal with one crisis at a time.

He'd spent some time muttering away about how this should be Raven's job – he was the nobleman after all and the people wanted to see their leaders... lead – but had finally settled on random snarky comments about idiotic nobility.

"I bet you he makes his servants' lives a misery," he said suddenly.

Moor just rolled her eyes behind his back and opened a nearby door.

"Servant's quarters," she announced, somewhat relieved.

The Prat just nodded and grabbed a passing servant, ignoring the fact the poor woman was sobbing.

"Quarters!' he bellowed. "Tell everyone."

The he grabbed Moor and headed off again toward the library.

* * *

Blankie had finally found a nice place to lay his head.

Not knowing his social position, guards, nobles and servants alike had all treated him with some reserve. He could be anyone and so they did not know how to interact with him.

He'd wandered around for a while before hearing a yell go up that quarters had been found. He walked tentatively into one and breathed a sigh of relief. It was comfortable but not too ornate, simple but not bare. It was the quarters of a lower-ranked courtier – noble, of course, but quite lowly-ranked.

He pulled some clothes gratefully out of the closet, laid his blanket on the bed, and setted down to sleep. It was early, admittedly, but he had found being nobody exhausting. At least the others knew where they fit. He was... a blanket and - if the tears welling up behind his red-rimmed eyelids were any indication – a wet one.

* * *

The first things he'd seen were rolling hills in the distance. He'd trudged up them to try and work out where he was, who he was. He liked the feel of the 'r' in his mouth as he said the word. _RRR_olling hills. And that was all he could see: gentle inclines of dirt and grass and a mass of trees on his left that could be anything from a small woods to a massive forest.

He needed to find a place to sleep, a shelter of some kind. He had one somewhere, he was sure, but he'd soon realised it could be anywhere and in any direction. He had sturdy, serviceable clothes, a knife tucked into his jerkin, an axe in his hand and good-quality boots; a little worn. He'd found a small wax paper bundle of food and a little water. It seemed he'd set out for a long walk, probably this morning, and his camp could be anywhere.

He peered at the horizon, eyes obviously honed sharp by regular fierce observation, and thought he saw a glint of light in the distance where the late-afternoon sun was slowly setting. A city, perhaps? Above it, he thought he saw a group of black birds above the fortifications.

A shriek nearby startled him from his reverie. There was a twisted, wind-blasted tree a metre away and on its branches was a single raven. It shrieked again then clicked its beak as though to get his attention.

He shuddered. He somehow knew he didn't like ravens. Some deep, primal fear shivered through his veins at the large black bird in front of him. Ravens. Portents of death and destruction. Powerful magical beings.

He glanced at the fading white glint in the distance and the wheeling group of black birds disappearing into the slowly-gathering gloom of twilight and then back at the bird near him in the determined, damaged tree.

"It could be worse," he said out loud, telling him he was talking to himself and not the Corvine. His eyes shifted briefly to the vision in the distance and back again.

"You could be a crow."

And then he turned around and headed determinedly in another direction. Any direction but over those rolling hills.

* * *

"The library!" Moor announced happily as they walked through its heavy wooden doors and into the dim interior. Someone had lit candles to fend off the gathering darkness and they burned brightly in the cavernous gloom.

"What gave it away?" snarked the Prat, as he looked at the giant shelves stacked with heavy, dusty volumes.

"Well, there's no need to be like that," the Moor chided him. "We have a lot of work to do and I just think things would be easier if you at least tried to be a little bit..."

"...subservient?"

"Pleasant," she finished firmly. "Why can't you just be a little bit gracious? Like..."

"If you say Raven I'll leave you here to do this work alone."

"Like Emerald then."

The Prat gave her a brief disbelieving look as he remembered the number of death glares Emerald had thrown Moor's way in only a few hours. He opened his mouth and then shrugged and turned to the shelves.

"I guess we'll be here all night then. I'm sure in my former life I got more sleep. And more food."

Moor smiled at him for the first time.

"Me too."

* * *

He was a blacksmith. Not that that took any real deductive work. In his first memory, he was already in motion;, the hammer flying towards the sword, the sudden shocking sparks momentarily terrifying him.

He dropped the hammer and it clanged dully against the anvil. Then he looked around the workshop and sat down sharply on the ground.

Who was he? What on Earth was going on?

He didn't know how long he sat there stunned and alone. He was brought back to his situation by loud male voices from the other room; uncouth, unlikeable, coarse and crude. They were congratulating themselves on finding a house with women's clothes in it and were searching everywhere for her. Whoever this poor woman was, he had to help her.

He sprung to his feet and ran through a connecting door and into what must be his house. One of the leering men had a simple, handmade dress in hand. He was calling out to this hidden – or hopefully absent – woman and urging his two comrades on in their search. He didn't notice the giant descending on him until it was too late.

As he looked at the three prone men on the well-swept dirt floor, the blacksmith, as he'd decided to call himself, felt a strangely discomforting sense of satisfaction and guilt. They'd deserved it, of course, and he couldn't regret protecting whoever this girl was. Still, he somehow knew with a blinding certainty that he was a man who usually tried to find another way. So from now on he would.

* * *

Raven followed Emerald into the room and saw her walking determinedly around the room; pulling open wardrobes and dressers and stroking the dresses, jewellery and ornate furniture of the chamber.

She smiled as he walked in and came over and took his hand, almost by habit. She dragged him over to the wardrobe and lightly stroked a blue and purple dress.

"This is my bedchamber," she said to him as she caressed it. She turned around to face him. "I'm sure of it. This is my room. These are my things."

"You recognise them?" asked Raven, slightly excited.

"Yes," she replied, quickly, "...no... no, not exactly. "

She took his other hand and gave him a contemplative look as though she was struggling to find the words to explain what she felt.

"That implies that I remember but I don't. It's just like... it's like there's something here telling me that it's familiar. Like a strange perception that I don't understand."

"Ah uh," nodded Raven confidently, as if he understood, "so that means that... ah... no, I don't know what you mean."

"It's... like a dream," she explained slowly, hoping she could make him understand. "Like a dream you wake up from and you think it's just a dream but then something happens and you feel like..."

"... like it's happened to you before," finished Raven.

"Yes," she smiled at him, relieved. "That's exactly right. If dreams could come true then this is like a dream I had once... a dream that's coming true. But I barely remember it so it's... just a tantalising sensation of familiarity."

She dropped one of his hand and placed it gently on his cheek, looking into his blue eyes with her green ones.

"It's like you. When I look at you it's the same thing. Like I know you. Like I can trust you. I don't remember you but I..."

Her thumb caressed his prominent cheekbone as she spoke.

"Do you recognise anything here?"

He paused for a moment then shook his head lightly, "I'm sorry. Nothing here is familiar at all."

"That's strange," she whispered, as her other hand moved to his left cheek and she stepped closer. "I have the strangest feeling you spend an awful lot of time here."

He smiled and slipped his arms around her waist.

"That is strange," he agreed, "I was just having the same feeling."

"You know," she remarked shyly, "it's going to be dark soon. There's really no point in trying to do anything about a Census this evening."

"I agree," he said, "and if this room's familiar, we should... explore that."

"Maybe we should see if we can find something to... jog your memory."

"Absolutely," he said, as her lips brushed lightly against his, "After all, if it's possible to remember something then I think we should... make every effort."

"It's our duty to Camelot," she said with a small smile and then she kissed him again.

"Which part of the chamber do you think I'm most likely to remember?" he asked her huskily as her lips moved to his neck.

"The bed?"

He looked over at the large down-filled bed in the corner.

"Well, it's certainly worth a try."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N Thanks to Tianne for the beta**

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Chapter 5

"Merlin!" cried Arthur as the stones broke apart beneath his feet.

"Arthur!" screamed Merlin as he ran frantically toward the Prince, the bedroom floor cracking slowly beneath his feet as he ran.

"Hold the walls," commanded Arthur, "stop it falling apart."

Merlin grabbed one his bedposts and reached out to grab the wall just as the room tilted away from the castle and crashed onto the hard ground below. He stood up and saw Arthur try to gain his feet then stumble and fall as if with a broken ankle.

"I have to get you to a physician," he said, as he looped his arm around his Prince.

He stood up and realised suddenly that the entire court was littered around the grounds, all prostrate and injured.

"Merlin?"

A curious voice sounded beside him. He turned and saw Morgana standing there in a shimmering emerald gown, a large crow on her shoulder. "What's wrong, black bird?"

"Morgana? The castle has fallen apart and everyone's injured. I need to find Gaius. Please help me."

"Of course," she said, as if her response was so self-evident she couldn't understand why he'd asked.

They ran through the castle grounds to the physician's chambers; bursting into the room and finding the tall man with ginger hair inside.

"Gaius!" Merlin yelled, breathing heavily with the exertion of running. "Gaius, I need your help. Something is attacking us. Everyone is damaged."

The red-haired man turned around to reveal eyes so dark they were almost black. He had a vicious smirk below his scrappy orange beard.

"Gaius is gone," the man intoned, his eyes black and searing. He stepped towards them, closing the distance while barely seeming to move. They both tried to move back but their legs were glued to the spot and they couldn't shift an inch.

"Gaius is gone and he's never coming back."

Raven and Emerald sat up in the bed with two sharp intakes of breath; both astonished to see the first few fingers of dawn clinging to the windowsill.

"I had the strangest dream," they both gasped and then they looked at each other in stunned silence.

* * *

The Golden Prat threw another book to the side in frustration and then looked in annoyance at Moor sleeping soundly in the corner of the room.

He'd spent the entire night trying to find something helpful to explain what was happening to them and… nothing. He was almost as frustrated that Raven and Emerald had failed to join them as he was by the fact that Moor had barely lasted an hour before falling asleep.

"Raven can delay it all he wants but sooner or later they're going to notice he hasn't done anything about this war and then we're both going to get it," he muttered.

"A map. That's all I want. A map. My Kingdom for a map. What am I talking about? I'm delirious, obviously. You're talking to yourself, Arthur. I know, I know. But Moor's here. I'm talking to her. She's so quiet because she's being... politely attentive. She's definitely not sleeping away probably dreaming of bloody Raven."

"Are you talking to yourself, young man?" asked Geoffrey, coming in behind him. The librarian walked into the room and placed some food down beside him, his white hair wild in the crisp morning air. The Prat had found him in the room when he'd finally stumbled upon the library; just as dazed and confused as the rest of the populace but convinced that he was the custodian of the texts.

"I have ink on my fingers, boy," he'd declared when the Prat had asked him how he knew who he was and what he did, "I obviously spend my time writing. And this tome," he pulled up a book from the table, "was open and I was writing in it when I lost my memory. It's called 'A History of Camelot' by 'Geoffrey of Monmouth'. So I think my identity is self-evident."

"Well, it appears you're luckier than most of us," he'd noted, "Wait, 'A History of Camelot', does it have...?"

Geoffrey cut him off with a rueful shake of the head.

"Sorry, lad, but it starts 200 years ago when the land was part of Mercia. I'm afraid I don't seem to have gotten as far as the present day."

"Still," the Prat mused, "if we were part of Mercia and then we seceded..."

Geoffrey nodded, "It does speak of Mercia as being one of our enemies. Although..."

"What?"

"It does not speak of her magic. All her threats seem to be very... mundane."

The Prat assailed the food Geoffrey had brought him; realising he quite literally couldn't remember when he last ate.

"Where did you get this?" he suddenly remembered to ask.

"Some of the servants who woke up in the kitchen figured that's where they belonged. They've been producing meals non-stop and giving it away to anyone who asks. Still, if we don't remember soon where our food supply comes from..."

The Prat nodded and turned back to his work. Geoffrey picked up the plate and turned to go.

"Oh, um, Prat?" he turned back to say.

"Um umm," mumbled the Prat, already absorbed in his work.

"Just in case you didn't know, when you were talking to yourself earlier, you called yourself 'Arthur'. Just thought I should mention it."

"Arthur?" whispered the Prat and then he turned back to a book he'd just put down. "Who the hell is Arthur?"

* * *

"I just had the strangest dream," Raven and Emerald said to each other. Then they looked around the room, taking in the rumpled sheets and clothes strewn over the floor.

"Oh," said Raven and he blushed, "I'm not sure this counts as a Census."

"Of course it is," argued Emerald, "it's just a very slow and... thorough one."

"Emerald," he blushed more, "I'm sorry, I'm not sure what happened last night."

"Something we do quite often, I suspect," she said archly.

"Maybe," he conceded, "but still, the Kingdom is under threat and we apparently have an army to raise."

He gave her a guilty look, "I guess the Prat's been waiting for us in the library for quite a while."

"Don't worry," she said, a shade more cattily than she'd intended. "He has Moor and her exotic beauty."

Raven shot her a piercing and amused look. "You don't think I... Moor and I... I mean, I don't remember knowing her before yesterday."

"You don't remember knowing me before yesterday," she reminded him.

"Well, yes, but that's different," he argued, "I mean, we were holding hands and we're obviously of the same station. Moor is... exotic... but I'm hardly going to be interested in her."

She gave him an appraising glance and then leaned forward and kissed him.

"Good. Because I have the feeling I'm the jealous type.

"Now, we should probably get to the library. I wonder how we'd go about arranging breakfast and a bath..."

* * *

The Prat shook Moor awake. She sat up and yawned broadly before looking around in bleary confusion.

"Where am I? Who am I? Who are you?" she asked, suddenly terrified.

"Moor, it's me, the Prat," he said soothingly. "You're in the library, you're safe."

"Oh, oh of course," she said and let him help her up. "How are you going with the search?"

"Not well. I've found references to every subject under the bloody sun except the layout and populace of Camelot. But the good news is that the kitchens are working for the moment."

"Good news indeed, Prat," Raven's voice boomed out behind him.

The Prat turned and saw Raven striding confidently past the tall stacks of books, Emerald beside him. He gave one disbelieving glance when he realised they were _still _holding hands.

"Now," said Raven, "maybe you could make yourself useful and get us some food. We haven't eaten since... actually we can't remember since we last ate. Literally."

"Make myself useful?" mimicked the Prat, "I have been here researching Camelot's history all night. Where have you been?"

"If you must know," said Raven, somewhat superciliously, "I've been doing a meticulous and... systematic... study of... some... of the citizens of Camelot."

"Really?" asked the Prat with a raised eyebrow pointing meaningfully in Emerald's direction.

"Um um." Raven cleared his throat disapprovingly with a quick look at Moor.

"Right. Food. I'll be back as soon as I can... My Lord."

"You look a bit uncomfortable, Moor," noted Raven considerately, "did you sleep here all night?"

"Um, yes, I guess," she said, still yawning, "I thought I just closed my eyes for a moment. The Prat must have been working all night."

"Without much success it appears. Well, let's see if we can't do a bit better. And we'll get you some food. That'll make your world a bit brighter. You'll see."

Moor gave him an adoring look that she quickly muted when Emerald glared at her and the three set off into the stacks to have one last look before they ate.

* * *

The day had dawned hot and bright and the little group blinked when they walked out into the glare of the street. To the Prat's disgust, Raven and Emerald were still holding hands; a fact that did not go unnoticed by the confused populace.

Raven and Emerald walked to the raised platform in the centre of the courtyard and quickly mounted it. They stood there for a moment surveying the people and it was as much their calm confidence as their presence that caused the populace to turn and pay attention.

"People of Camelot," began Raven in a loud and commanding voice.

"People of Camelot," he repeated. "That is who you are. This much we know but not much else. I have been named Raven and I have been asked by those who are trying to solve this problem to help you."

"And I am Emerald," announced the tall, beautiful woman beside him, "and I stand by Raven in this task."

Raven continued, "Know that we are working on restoring all our memories. Know that we are trying to find food and shelter and security for all of us; not just the nobles who woke up in the castle."

"We believe... we have discovered... that our current fate may be caused by a Kingdom called Mercia."

At that news, the crowd began to mutter angrily.

"Please, please, you will all have your chance to help free us from this... pernicious magic. But to do so, we need to know who is in our Kingdom, who has been affected, who can do what job, who can fight and who can support us in our struggle.

"Myself, Emerald..." he pointed a strong finger to where the Prat and Moor were standing, "and our servants will be touring the city today and for as long as it takes to take an accurate census. Once we know what force we can raise and once we confirm that it is this Mercia that is responsible, I swear to you that we will ride. Ride to the defence of ourselves, of our children and of our Kingdom.

"I give you my word as a nobleman of Camelot... we will resist and we will triumph!"

At that, the growing crowd gave a few ragged cheers. Raven grinned in a way that made his face light up with an inner fire.

"People of Camelot, I don't know much. Like you, my life started only yesterday. But one thing I do know, one thing I am sure of, is that we are not a people to allow this setback to overcome us. We are brave and we are strong and we will survive and thrive. So I say again... we will work together and we will fight back. We will resist and we will triumph!

A stronger cheer went up from the crowd this time. The Moor was once again worshipping Raven from afar but even the Prat had to admit that he was impressed.

"For our Kingdom," finished Raven. "For Camelot!"

"For Camelot!" came the answering cheer.

Raven and the Emerald came down from the platform and began to move through the crowd. The Prat quickly stepped in and tried to stop the mass from swarming around the two nobles. They were too close for his comfort and, despite what Raven had just said, they had no idea who their true enemy was.

"I thought you didn't want this war," enquired the Prat softly.

"I have to give them something," he replied, bluntly. "Let's hope we can solve this before it becomes necessary."

"That means finding a way to mitigate Crown and Sash's... militancy," noted Emerald.

Raven sighed, "I know."

They came to the edge of the crowd and an elderly washerwoman came up to them tentatively and bowed her head in respect. Raven acknowledged her with a comforting smile but she was still struck dumb by having to address him.

He smiled again and used his free hand to take her gnarled one in his own.

"It's alright," he said softly. "We are all of us together in this calamity."

"I'm sorry, My Lord," she began. "I know..." she stopped and smoothed down her rough clothing, "... at least I think I know that I am a simple woman. But I feel you should know. We've had some problems with law and order since last night. Some of us have gathered together to protect ourselves but there are groups of men... armed men... and they're..."

She stopped, unable to continue. She'd seen some terrible things the night before; things she could barely speak of.

"It's true, My Lord," said a gruff voice.

The group looked up into the gentle eyes of a giant of a man.

"I caught some of them in my home looting. I obviously have a wife or daughter somewhere and they had found her clothes. They were... looking for her."

"What?" exclaimed the Prat, appalled.

"Thank you," interjected Raven, quickly, "both of you for letting us know. We must restore law and order, and quickly, but I can't do that and assess our fighting capability. Emerald, take Moor and return to the Throne Room. There were armed men there – perhaps knights. Until we take a look around we don't know who we can trust. Form them together and bring them into the Lower Town."

He looked at the gentle giant and the washerwoman and then back at Emerald.

"These two have an idea of where and who the worst perpetrators are and they will aid you in your search. These criminals must be arrested and locked up as soon as possible. I'm sure there are dungeons below the city.

"Prat, return to the library and find a map. There must be one somewhere."

They all turned to go, Emerald giving his hand a quick intimate squeeze before letting it go.

"Oh," added Raven, "and if you see someone committing a crime, use any means you must to stop them. Looting, rape and murder will _not_ be tolerated. Not by me, nor any honest citizen of Camelot."

"Yes, My Lord," said the Prat, struck by how much the noble seemed to care about the people. As much as he hated to admit it, it seemed Raven was a natural leader.

* * *

Emerald and Moor headed to the Throne Room, Emerald's mind returning to the fading imagery of the dream. She couldn't quite remember it but saw in her mind's eyes those cruel black orbs searing into her.

"Are you alright, My Lady," asked Moor, slightly concerned.

"I'm fine," said Emerald imperiously, "I'm just consumed by our predicament, that's all."

"Raven will work it out," said Moor.

"I agree," replied Emerald, deciding she quite liked the girl despite her obsessive interest in her man.

The two walked into the Throne Room to find it filled much as it had been the night before. Crown and Sash were each sleeping soundly on adjacent thrones, having obviously decided to share their authority in sleep.

The orange-haired man, whose name was apparently Gaius, was at the window staring out onto the courtyard below. As she stood there, Gaius began to turn around and she felt a chill to her bones as the dream swept over her again. Those eyes…

Her legs turned to stone and she felt a wave of nauseating terror as he slowly brought his head around to face her with eyes... that were completely normal.

She relaxed. What was she thinking? It had just been a strange dream.

"Emerald... it is Emerald, isn't it?" Gaius greeted her.

"Oh yes, apparently," she found herself saying, "at least for now. Let's hope we can all regain our true identities soon."

"Well spoken, my dear. How goes the Census?"

"Oh," she paused, thinking of their work so far, "possibly slower than Crown and Sash would like but certainly very... thorough."

"Good to hear," he said effusively, "I don't think we can delay in attacking Mercia. Our very lives depend on it."

"I agree completely, Gaius," said Crown. He stood up from the throne and stretched. "In fact, assuming we can rouse enough of a force today, I think we should march tomorrow morning."

"But," interjected Emerald, "we don't know the size of our force. The city is in chaos. Mobs roam the streets. We need to restore order. And we... we don't even know where Mercia _is_. We don't know which _way _to march."

Crown waved his hands dismissively, "We'll discover that information today. There's bound to be something in the library. And then we shall crush these evil Mercians and regain our memories."

Emerald opened her mouth too argue again but forced herself to close it instead. They were set on a path to war and the only way to stop them was to find what had caused their memory loss, Mercians or no Mercians, and reverse it.

"If you'll excuse me, My Lords, Moor and I only came to get some armed men to help... protect Raven during his Census," the small white lie slipping out before she realised it. "There is, as I have said, a law and order problem in the city."

"Take them," said Crown, with another dismissive wave of his hand.

"Get the information you need. Because as soon as it's possible, there will be war."

As she turned to go, flanked by twenty armed men, she could have sworn she saw a victorious smirk flit across the Physician's face. But it was just for a moment. She couldn't be sure.

In the distance, she heard the discordant shriek of a crow.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N Thanks once again to Tianne for the beta**

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Chapter 6

"Lord Raven, report," Sash commanded the black-haired man who stood before him.

Raven gave the Court a quick surreptitious glance before he responded; trying to weigh up where things currently stood. He noticed Gaius, unmanageable red hair standing up in bristles, hovering silently behind the blonde-haired man with the sash and Crown standing, cross-armed and scowling at the window.

Obviously, in the ongoing power struggle between the two men, Sash was currently winning.

"Well, Lord Raven, don't just stand there. You were tasked with assessing our ability to fight this cursed enemy of ours. Report!"

"Sash," he began, noting the twitch on the man's face as he refused to give him an honorific. _Honestly, _he thought_, for all we know he's a serving boy in a silly outfit._

"Crown," he added, noddling slightly to the throne's contender. If the wind shifted back again, he wanted to be facing the right way regardless.

"I have spent today restoring order to the town and beginning an account of our land, dwellings, food and people. I'm afraid the law and order situation was dire. Lady Emerald, with the aid of the men you provided her, was able to locate the worst offenders and..."

"Yes, yes," interrupted Sash, "but what about the invasion?"

"... and lock them up in the dungeons we found thanks to a map my servant discovered in the library. He and the Lady Emerald's new maid are there now trying to find more information on our... enemy... and ourselves. Information in the library will also hopefully tell us who our allies are and how many men they have committed to us should we ever go to war. Also..."

"Do you really think it wise to trust such an important task to a servant, Raven," asked Crown, determined to at least be a _part _of the conversation and somewhat emboldened by the man's acknowledgement.

"It is true," Raven conceded, "that the Prat is a complete idiot but apparently he can read. Besides, he is aided by our librarian."

"_Fine,_ Raven," interrupted Sash impatiently, "and the war?"

"We have issued a proclamation asking for all men of fighting age and fitness to report to what appear to be training grounds on the west side of the Keep. I have asked Emerald to take the soldiers and do a house by house search and count all the people, their food stocks and possessions. I've also sent runners out of the town into the outlying areas to assess the situation outside our walls. The castle kitchens..."

"I don't care about the castle kitchens, damn it," yelled Crown suddenly and he pushed himself away from the window and strode purposefully, menacingly over to Raven.

"We have been attacked. Not directly. Not with men at arms and honest warfare. No, we have been attacked in the most cowardly, the most terrifying way of all. Witchcraft! Sorcery! The work of evil cowards. We march to Mercia and once they are all dead, this curse will be lifted. That is all that matters. I am sick of hearing about law and order, libraries and the damn kitchens."

Behind him, Sash nodded in forceful agreement and Raven signed internally as the mood shifted slightly back toward Crown.

"My Lords," Raven said with a short bow, deciding that honorifics might be wise at this juncture. "My Lords, I'm afraid I must be blunt. You will care deeply about the kitchens when your army runs out of food. You will care even more deeply when we run out of food before that army can even be mustered. We don't know where our farms or market gardens are. We have no crops to harvest that we have found, no livestock to slaughter. If it was winter..."

Sash sighed resignedly, "... if it was winter we'd have winter stockpiles within the town walls."

"Maybe we do," continued Raven, "but you need to give me time to find them. Please, My Lords, have patience. You will have your war. Just not today."

"Very well, Raven," Sash sighed and Crown nodded slightly in agreement, "you are obviously a man of gentle birth and education. We will take your advice. But we want hourly updates on your progress from first light to last bell. Do you understand?"

"Yes, My Lords," Raven bowed. "I will be back in one hour to give you the last report for today."

He turned clumsily on one heel and left; saving his relieved sigh until he'd left the room. And so he didn't see Gaius' thoughtful expression at his departing back. If he had, he may have remembered those terrifying black eyes and given an uncontrollable shiver.

* * *

"...and Offa the Great saw the corruption that was all around him and so he, great visionary that he was, declared his landholdings a new Kingdom and many of the peoples of Mercia were so disillusioned with their fat and decrepit rulers that they, without hesitation, swore their allegiance to... blah blah blah... this reads more like propaganda than history," noted the Prat.

"What's the difference?" Moor queried him without a hint of irony.

"Good point," agreed the Prat and slammed 'A History of Camelot' by 'Geoffrey of Monmouth' closed. "I think our Geoffrey was hoping for a Knighthood. It would be nice to know from _whom_."

He picked up the book and placed it back on the librarian's desk.

"And look at this one," he added, holding up a black book with gold leaf on the cover. "It's all about some ancient prophecies regarding someone called Emrys and the Once and the Future King of Albion. It has sorcerers and dragons and other rubbish."

"Once and _future_ king?" asked Moor curious. "How can someone be a King in the past and the future?"

"Who knows? Maybe he got deposed. Still, it's hardly helpful."

"Can I ask you a question?" asked Moor in a tone that made the Prat want to insist that she already had.

"Sure."

"How did you and I both end up back in the library?"

The Prat just sighed. "Because we need information and the regal one in black and blue is too busy swanning around being admired."

"You shouldn't be so hard on him, you know," she argued gently. "He has a lot of responsibility."

"He works hard, I'll grant him that," conceded the Prat.

"You know what I think?" he added a moment later.

Moor shook her head, absorbed in a book on herbology.

"I think someone has deliberately hidden anything that would tell us our true identities. Maybe because if we knew who we were we might be asking some better questions."

"What kind of questions?" The Moor put her book down and gave him her attention.

"Like why, if Mercia is our greatest enemy, we haven't found anything about military campaigns against them. Like why, if we're at constant threat of war, we didn't have armed garrisons of soldiers standing by and ready to attack."

"But that would mean…?"

The Prat nodded. "It would mean that Camelot was at peace before this began."

"And now we're planning for war," finished Moor, suddenly looking worried. She shook her fears off with a wave of her dusky curls. "But Gaius' letter…"

"I know. And I can't think of any reason why he'd lie. He's lost his memory as well; he's in the same boat as the rest of us. It's just… Raven's right, although if you tell him I said that I will deny it. There's something about this that just doesn't make sense."

"Well, I think it can make no sense tomorrow," noted Moor. "For now, I think we find ourselves some chambers and get some sleep."

"You go ahead," suggested the Prat, "I just want to do some more work."

* * *

As the evening deepened, the washerwoman found herself suddenly at a loss for what to do. The day had been so full and so satisfying. She and the blacksmith, who she had affectionately named 'Smithy' had worked with the beautiful and commanding Lady Emerald to track down the bandits who had so terrorised the town the night before.

The men had resisted when they'd come for them but Lady Emerald had grabbed a sword herself from one of the armed guards and quickly disarmed five of the perpetrators. It was a seemingly small thing but it had emboldened several of the common folk who had witnessed it and they were soon leaving their houses and trying to go about their business as usual.

Emerald had talked to everyone they met; listening to their concerns, explaining the situation, quieting their fears and taking an inventory of their families and household goods. All in all, thought the washerwoman, it had been a good day. Still, the sun was setting and she had no place to call her own. At least the baker they had met earlier had woken up at his ovens. He had baked bread for a full day non-stop; just glad to have something to do to take his mind off his troubles.

"Um, I was wondering," Smithy turned to her and then paused as if unsure how to say what he was trying to.

"Yes, Smithy," she said, encouragingly.

"It's just… I know that you don't know where you live and I seem to have room at my house and for all I know we're both married so I would never suggest that… it's just, if you needed somewhere to lay your head then… and the Lady Emerald gave me some food to cook so, if you were hungry then…"

She turned and gave him a warm smile; unaware of how the years dropped off her when she did so.

"I'd be very grateful," she said and he returned her smile.

* * *

"My Lord Raven," a hesitant voice interrupted the exhausted man's reverie. Last report made, he had been making his way back to Emerald's chambers where he sincerely hoped the woman was already waiting for him.

Raven looked around to see a vaguely-familiar man dressed as a minor courtier. He gave him a slightly confused look.

"Blankie," the man said, one hand tapping his chest slightly.

"I'm so sorry," Raven apologised tiredly, "I didn't recognise you..."

"... with clothes on?" Blankie finished, unoffended.

Raven just gave a wry shrug.

"I'm sorry to bother you, My Lord, I know you must be planning to retire but I...I was hoping you could tell me what to do."

Raven gave a short confused shake of his head. "What to _do_?"

"See, everybody else, well, they don't know who they are but they know... they know _what_ they are. They all have jobs to do. I... I've spent all day being told that everything from cooking to guard duty is not my place. I just... please My Lord; I just need something to do."

Raven gave him a reassuring smile. "Right now, what I need you to do is get some sleep. But I want you to report to me first thing tomorrow morning. As my personal servant. Wake me at dawn with my breakfast, prepare my bath and my clothes or tomorrow. And then I'll have some more tasks for you after that."

"Really, My Lord?" Blankie asked him with a look of astonished excitement on his face. "Your _personal servant_? That's brilliant! Thank you, My Lord. Thank you. I... first thing tomorrow My Lord, I promise. First thing."

Blankie began to back down the hallway excitedly, "I'll go and get some sleep so I'll be fresh as anything. You'll see. Personal servant!"

Raven watched in some amusement as the other man ran and skipped his way down the corridor. Then he finished his journey to Emerald's room and knocked. And was deeply happy when the dark-haired Lady answered the door.

* * *

Gaius walked into the library, his keen eyes taking in the scattered books and an exhausted Prat asleep on the floor. He stepped quietly past the open volumes no history, herb lore, magic and prophecy and carefully slid a set of scrolls into the bookcase nearest the Prat's foot.

Then he smiled a contemptuous sneer at the other man's prone form.

"This is the land of Badb," he whispered, "and no matter how hard Emrys tries, my mistress will have war."

* * *

In a richly-furnished room on the other side of the castle, a raven-haired man and woman woke up from a deep, satiated sleep with a gasp.

"I had the strangest dream," they said and then looked at each other with concern.

"This can't be a coincidence," she said.

"No," agreed Raven, "it most definitely isn't."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

In a richly-furnished room in a castle within a Kingdom that its inhabitants were almost nearly certain was called Camelot, a raven-haired man and woman woke up from a deep sleep with a gasp.

"I had the strangest dream," they said and then looked at each other with concern.

"This can't be a coincidence," she said.

"No," agreed Raven, "it most definitely isn't."

* * *

Work was the comforting balm that got them through the day. Lives may have been thrown into a confused jumble but bread still had to baked, homes cleaned, children cared for and protected. The routine, the repetition, the exhausted tumble into bed at the end of the day. These could take the mind and focus them on more important things.

The washerwoman and the blacksmith worked side by side all that morning organising the supply of food to everyone in the city. The morning had dawned blindingly hot, even more than was usual for the height of summer, and the washerwoman was glad to perch herself on a stool in the shade and dole out bread and vegetable soup.

Yesterday's work with the Lady Emerald had been productive for more than restoring order. She and Smithy had been able to map the bakeries, grocers, taverns and inns and had organised a centralised holding place for various foodstuffs. Lord Raven had sent an administrator to inventory the food and a scouting party had found some farms outside the city walls.

She hadn't realised until then just how concerned Emerald and Raven had been about them starving and had noted with a measured glance the small flits of relief on their faces. Still, as she sat on her stool doling out food, she found her mind now had the time to dwell on the possible coming war. Would all their work to rebuild be for nothing in the end?

She shifted uncomfortably in the growing humidity and looked at Smithy as he wandered back from the queue.

"They seem to be behaving well enough," he noted with some satisfaction. There had been some impatience in the crowd as the day had grown ever hotter and he'd had to several times move out into it and look large and menacing.

Still, the washerwoman thought, they looked more nervous than they should be. Like a herd of horses ready to bolt. She shrugged and dunked her ladle into the giant pot of soup to serve another hungry townsman. This was storm weather. She supposed she was feeling skittish too.

And then the warning bell began to ring.

* * *

The storm had an inevitability about it since the blasting sun had shattered the dawn into a searing day. The sky was clear but the pressure built as each hour passed and after the long slow heat of midday had passed, the clouds built up near the horizon and swooped threateningly toward the city like some giant predatory bird.

Raven and Emerald, already jarred and unsettled from their common dream, watched the black front approach with more than trepidation. The irrational dread grew as the light dimmed and they heard the first booms and crackles that flitted around the edge of the descending storm.

Both of them wondered if there was a fresh new danger here or if the demands of the last few days had left them vulnerable to fear.

"What do you remember of the dream?" he asked her, in the few moments when they weren't dealing with the heaving madness of the unsettled city. His reports to the Crown and Sash were becoming increasingly maddening, especially now he'd found food. It was all he could do to keep them from ordering the troops to march that minute.

"Just a feeling," she admitted. Black eyes. Danger. Deceit.

She looked at the storm and shivered.

"Like that."

Raven followed her glance. "It looks like a vulture," he said, almost unknowingly. "It knows we're injured and it's come to pick the bones clean."

Emerald straightened her spine and gave him a defiant look.

"We're not dead yet."

"No," he agreed. "We're not."

And then the warning bell began to ring.

* * *

Moor woke up as the midday sun warmed her bare ankle to an uncomfortable level. She had been, she guessed, more exhausted than she had realised as was the Prat who was sleeping by the stacks surrounded by open books and one scroll that was nestled beneath his boot.

She sat up and put her hand down into a plate of food obviously left there by Geoffrey for her breakfast. She groaned and tried to wipe it down as best she could on her dress. She wanted to help, that was unarguable, but was sure she hadn't volunteered to _live_ in the library.

She went off to find a room, a bath and a change of clothes and then came back to the library to wake up the Prat. A storm was rolling in, she realised, as she heard the low groan of the thunder. The servants were running around with candles as she walked back into the dimming room.

The Prat had woken himself and was sitting at Geoffrey's table attacking a plate of food with some gusto.

"Have you eaten," he managed between considerable spoonfuls.

"Not really hungry," she told him truthfully. "It's going to sound strange. The last few days have been strangely... exciting... but I think the reality of daily life is starting to sink in."

The Prat gave her a somewhat bemused look and she felt the need to explain.

"I don't have anywhere to live, Prat. I don't know my name, who my family is. We've been running around so much we haven't had time to think. I woke up this morning... this afternoon... well, around midday I guess... no, I guess it would be technically afternoon... anyway...," she paused and collected herself. Only a few days old and she was already annoyed by her own babbling.

"I woke up and realised I was sleeping in a library because... I have nowhere else to go and at least here I can pretend to be doing_ something_. That's hardly a life."

He put down his cutlery next to a piece of rolled up parchment with a bootprint on it and smiled reassuring at her.

"I know what you mean. I do. I keep thinking that somehow we'll find _the_ book or parchment that's going to explain everything. I think that was somewhat naive." He gave a small chuckle. "As if a book is going to answer all our questions."

She smiled back at him, the moment drawing out longer than she had intended. _Blue eyes_, she thought, _I always liked blue eyes_.

She started as she realised her mind had wandered and pointed to the scroll.

"I saw that under your boot while you were sleeping. Step on it, did you? "

He nodded and picked it up.

"I was just going to have a look at it. Strange though. I don't remember seeing it before."

"Well," she said, "the place is pretty much a mess. You just must have missed it. You know, I think I will get something to eat. Let me know if the scroll yields all our answers."

The Prat gave a small laugh and pushed his plate away as she left the room for the kitchens.

He unrolled the scroll and looked at it for a minute or two, almost not believing what he was reading.

"Gods," he gasped in disbelief.

And then the warning bell began to ring.

* * *

Crown and Sash had, they admitted, come to a somewhat equitable arrangement. Their common cause of war had united them despite their instincts and they sat, side by side, in the throne room issuing orders that they had no idea were generally being ignored. Raven simply refused to implement any he didn't like, a fact of which they were currently blissfully unaware.

Gaius – the thing pretending to be Gaius – was well aware and he ground his teeth in frustration at all of Raven's interferences. Of all the people to be elevated by this crisis, he could scarcely believe it'd be the servant boy with magic powers. Bad luck. Soon to be remedied bad luck. But bad luck nonetheless.

"Any day now," Crown said to Sash with a smug little smile. "We'll show these Mercians they can't attack us like this without reprisal."

"Indeed," agreed Sash. "Do you think we should have something to eat?"

"Definitely."

Crown gestured to a servant who scurried off toward the kitchen to get the two monarchs something to eat.

"At least some things around here are still as they should be," Sash noted.

"Indeed," agreed Crown. He looked toward the window at the darkening day.

"Considerable storm," he said, "it's probably good we didn't march out today."

"Indeed," agreed Sash.

A bolt of lightning shot down from the sky and into the main square outside the throne room's windows. And another. And another.

And then the warning bell began to ring.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Lighting arced across the sky and hit the cobblestoned streets of Camelot like electric tree roots cracking open the Earth to slither lethally across the land. Thunder roared and the gusting ferocious wind picked up carts like they were twigs and smashed them into the shaking buildings.

As the lightning struck the ground and the buildings in the same places three, four times in a row, streets began to crack open and houses warp. Where it struck wooden buildings, the timber smoked and then burst into life; flames beginning a deadly childhood followed by a blazing adolescence. Within ten minutes half the Lower Town was in danger of destruction from the inferno.

In the courtyard and the streets of the Lower Town, people scattered frantically to get indoors while Raven and Emerald dragged themselves into the safety of the library and slammed shut the doors. Moor and the Prat were already shuttering windows and they joined them; emptying bookcases and pulling them against the vulnerable glass.

In the throne room, similar activity was being performed by servants on the wall of ornate stained glass windows as Crown and Sash shrieked orders.

"Is this magic?" Sash raised his voice to question the other man.

"Undoubtedly," Crown yelled back angrily. "This is no natural storm. We are under attack."

"By Mercia?"

"This must be the second part of their plan," Gaius called out to them from the other side of the room. He strode forward to their side and tapped their shoulders to get their attention. The wind's howling made speaking at a normal level almost impossible but at least the floor was no longer under threat of being covered with shattered glass.

"My Lords, please listen to me. This must be the second part of their plan. We are vulnerable and they have sent this storm to crush us further."

"What can we do against it?"

"Nothing. We are helpless. Our only hope is to weather it and strike them down before they can send another like it."

Crown and Sash swapped a glance and then nodded in agreement.

"Find Raven," Crown ordered Gaius. "If he is in the castle, bring him here. I don't care about the storm or food or anything else. This is war and it is time we responded in kind."

"Yes My Lords," said Gaius with a pleased smile, "as you wish."

Gaius strolled satisfied through the castle, even allowing himself a whistle before he realised he was getting appalled stares from some of the braver souls who had ventured into the halls.

He schooled his features into grim concern and opened the door to the library. Even if Merlin wasn't there, he needed to give Arthur a push about the scroll. He was surprised he hadn't revealed his contents yet. Either he hadn't yet read it or the unexpected attack had forestalled him making the truth known.

_Honestly_, he thought, _who could have imagined someone else would choose now to attack Camelot with magic. Probably Nimueh. Wonderful timing, my dear. And since you've no doubt realised by now that I'm here there's no way you can capitalise on it. I knew this was going to be a beautiful day._

"Raven," he greeted the tall young man. He was standing in the middle of the library watching the unfolding maelstrom from the one window they'd left clear. He couldn't see Emerald and Moor but they were no doubt somewhere near.

Merlin – Gaius enjoyed referring to them by their real names in his mind - shook his head, "Such force. It's magic, isn't it?"

"I believe so," Gaius told him gravely. "Sash and Crown are very concerned. Mercia's power seems even more formidable than we thought."

"Umph." Merlin kept staring out the window and Gaius looked around the room. Arthur was sitting at the table with the scroll rolled up in front of him looking contemplative.

"Now, I haven't seen that before," Gaius said. He walked over to the blonde man and touched the scroll. Arthur put his hand over it protectively and it was all Gaius could do not to smirk.

"Valuable, is it?" he asked him, innocently.

"I believe it does have information that is... pertinent."

"Then you should surely inform the Court immediately, Prat," Gaius said.

Arthur waved at the storm, "We have more important things to deal with right now. Perhaps it's not the time to... disrupt the status quo."

"Disrupt...? My, it must be very important information then. Surely the truth is more important than..."

"Stability."

"Stability. Indeed. Not much is stable though, is it? Speaking of which," he turned to Raven, "Crown and Sash wish to see you in the throne room as soon as possible. After this shocking new attack by our enemies, they wish the war effort to be accelerated."

"Fine," said Merlin shortly, "I'll be there as soon as the storm passes and I've sent teams out to investigate the damage."

"As you wish, My Lord," Gaius said and then he left the library, barely able to keep the smile of victory off his face. Outside the storm slackened, the lightning stopped and the wind died down.

_Problem solved_, he thought.

"This doesn't make sense," Raven said to Emerald as she and Moor made their way back to his side. They'd been searching for texts on magic and, as they stacked several up beside the table near the Prat, he saw they'd been successful.

He turned around so he was facing his three confidants. Behind him, they could see the storm had completely subsided.

"What doesn't make sense?" the Prat asked him.

"This attack. It doesn't make sense."

"I agree," Emerald said. "I was thinking about it while we were looking for books on magic. Which, by the way, were hidden in a secret room that we only found by chance. We can add that to the mysteries of Camelot that need to be unravelled. But as for this mystery... for this devastation to be the work of this Mercia we keep hearing of... it doesn't make sense."

"What doesn't make sense?" the Prat repeated, "We're their enemy. They want to defeat us. Incapacitating us and then attacking us while we're injured... that makes perfect sense."

"Ok," Raven conceded, "when you put it like that it makes sense."

"Thank you."

"Just answer me one question though."

"What question?"

"Where's their army?"

"What do you mean?" Moor asked him, curious. The Prat had drawn back slightly, pensively.

"He means," Emerald said, "that with the memory loss and then this attack we are totally vulnerable. Defeating us would be easy. So why haven't they?"

"All they'd have to do is march their troops into the main square," Raven explained, "We'd surrender. We'd have to."

"We're completely defenceless," the Prat said thoughtfully. "It's time to finish us off."

"But they haven't," Raven said.

"No, they haven't, have they? You have a theory?"

"A poorly-formed one," Raven admitted, "for the same reason that all our guesses are ill-informed. We know so little about what's going on. But if I had to speculate, I'd say this was... a coincidence."

"You can't be serious," argued the Prat, "So, what? We have not one but two magical enemies. One of whom attacks coincidentally only a few days after the first?"

"Or the first knew the second was coming. They seem to be the superior force."

"Raven's right," Emerald said, "wiping an entire Kingdom's memories and removing everything that would help us orient ourselves, everything that would help us know who we are? That takes much more power than a single storm, however ferocious."

"Not to take Prat's side in this argument," said Moor softly as she took the Prat's side in the argument, "but even if you were both somehow experts on magic or tactics before this happened, you are hardly experts now. I think you're right that we cannot know what's going on. Speculation is useless. We need facts."

"I agree with Moor," said Prat in a somewhat satisfied voice.

"Very well then," Emerald agreed. "Facts."

She looked meaningfully at Raven and he smiled at her and touched her arm affectionately, "You're right. Let's look at what we know to be true. The truth is even more important right now."

The Prat nodded and looked down at the scroll he'd folded up on the table. Facts.

"You three start. There's something I need to show Crown and Sash."

"Something we should all know?" Emerald asked him.

He nodded, "I should tell them first. You know what they're like. And then... I'm sure I'll be back very soon and you'll find out then."

He picked up the scroll, hesitated for a moment and then turned to leave the room.

"Oh, Prat," Raven called after him, "can you take some of those magical texts to Emerald's chambers on your way and send Blankie down to get the rest."

"Oh dear, you really should give him a new name," giggled Moor.

Raven grinned suddenly, "I've tried Servant, Slave and Peasant. He doesn't seem to like those either."

The three of them laughed, not noticing that the Prat failed to join in the mirth. He just picked up some of the books and left the room.

Not long after, Blankie came into the library, somewhat shaken from the storm but determined to serve, and picked up the rest of the books. Raven asked Emerald to organise the teams to assess the damage and she kissed him before taking Moor with her to get the groups together.

And not long after that, the guards came and arrested Raven and threw him in the dungeons. And when he asked them why, they simply yelled, "Shut up imposter," and slammed the prison door.

In the throne room, Sash took off his adornment and knelt on one knee before his King, the Prat was bustled off to be attired more appropriately, the Lady Emerald and her maid were summoned to an audience with their liege, the orders were given by the throne to prepare the Kingdom for war and Gaius decided a celebratory drink was in order.

And in the ruins of Idirsholas, an old man with hair so grey it was almost white and the robes of a court physician woke up with a gasp.


	9. Chapter 9

**Beta by Tianne. Thanks as always**

* * *

**Chapter 9**

Across the lightning-blasted hills surrounding Camelot, the squawking murder of crows fleeing from the burning trees and wooden houses in the blazing Lower Town, and across the fields of untended wheat and corn outside the city's walls lies Idirsholas.

Inside the ruins, where fire cannot burn until the frozen Knights within them rise again, an old man with hair so grey it was almost white and the robes of a court physician woke up with a gasp.

"Where am I?" he said to nobody. And nobody replied.

* * *

The cells were clean. That's what Raven noticed. Oh, they were dark and dank and there were odd skittering noises in the black corner just where he couldn't see. But the guards came in and swept and put down clean straw every day. He had no idea why. When he asked, one of them shrugged and said, "It was already so well-tended. We assumed this was what we had to do."

While the palace guards who had thrown him in here had been belligerent and angry; blaming him for something he couldn't imagine being responsible for (did they forget he had no memory?), the dungeon guards were gruffly affable and seemed disposed to make him comfortable.

He'd spent the first night in confused misery, trying not to sob into the clean straw he had for a bed, but was resigned the next morning to whatever fate had decided to throw at him now. It wasn't, of course, that he suddenly found himself a prisoner. He had _suddenly _found himself a lot of things the last few days. It was difficult to mourn his life of influence as Lord Raven when he'd had no real idea whether that was him at all.

No, his misery was because his Emerald hadn't come to see him. With each passing hour, he'd expected her to storm into his cell and... well, he wasn't sure. Save him? Commiserate with him? Tell him she never wanted to see him again because of... insert reason he hadn't yet been informed of here. Something. Was he so unimportant to her? Was his sudden change in status enough to make her uncaring?

He shook his head and tugged his breakfast toward him. He had no notion of what had transpired since they'd thrown him in this cell the night before. For all he knew, Emerald was hostage to her own revelations. He shouldn't judge her actions until he knew all the facts.

He sighed as he attempted to soften the hard piece of bread he'd been given. They had not one but two magical enemies. People were dead. The Lower Town was burning. It had been all he could do to stop the insane march to war and now that he was in here?

He stopped chewing for a moment and paused. _Now that I'm in here..._

* * *

Arthur Pendragon, heir to the throne of Camelot and known until recently as the peasant Prat, walked into the Great Hall and stopped before the empty thrones. The room was gloomy and poorly lit; the glass still shuttered against magical threats. The patchworked light from the stained glass windows no longer danced along the floor as it usually did.

Arthur sighed at the bare room and turned to a small sound behind him. Crown... the king... his father stood behind him with a glass of wine in hand.

"Sash and I have decided to repair to the Solar," he said. "It seems a more secure location. But I wanted to speak to you alone before the day began properly."

"Of course... Your Majesty," Arthur said.

Uther Pendragon sighed wryly, "I know, my son. It's strange to find one has such a close relation to someone they do not really remember. In a way, we're blessed to know for sure our true identities. In other ways..."

"I'm more confused than ever," Arthur confessed. "The Prat could be anybody – at least within his social class. Now I... I'm more confused as to who I am."

"You're a prince and a knight and the heir to my kingdom. That is exactly who you are. As to why you were dressed the way you were..."

"I had on Blankie's clothes," he realised suddenly, "I lost my clothes and took Blankie's. Because he's _my_ servant. I must have been in an incredible rush to report to you that way. I must have found out..."

"...this," the king finished, "You must have found out that we were about to be attacked."

"But which attack? The storm or the memories?"

Uther started, "What do you mean? They're the same. It's obvious Mercia is behind this. All of it. We need to strike back. Immediately. I need you to raise the Knights and guards and all the able men of Camelot and ride to war. As soon as possible."

Arthur took a deep breath and tried to adequately word his objections in his mind so he could argue with the other man. Before he could speak, however, the king was already deep into a new thought.

"I've given considerable thought to Raven... _Merlin_. According to the scroll he is your manservant. There's only one conclusion I can come to as to why he was dressed as a nobleman in that room and to why he took a position of responsibility. He's a traitor. He was working for Mercia and was planted to frustrate our efforts to strike back."

"Sire," Arthur protested.

"No arguments. It is the only explanation. I've discussed the issue with Sash and Gaius and we are in agreement. He must be executed. Publicly."

Arthur tried to assemble his thoughts but found he had too many to articulate. _If only I knew more about what was going on_. _If only I knew_...

"Sire," he said, "I've observed Raven closely for the last few days and I simply don't believe..."

"Enough. I understand your position but you must understand mine. Raven is obviously a skilled deceiver. I've already had a blazing row with Emerald... _Morgana_... on this issue. She is his biggest victim in all of this and unfortunately it means her judgement cannot be trusted. She's convinced Merlin is innocent of intrigue and that we should not pursue war until we have more _proof_. What more proof do we need?"

He laughed slightly, "Do you know she actually counselled me to use _magic_ to try to fight this evil?" He shook his head in disbelief.

"You are the prince now. You have responsibilities. I expect you to be a loyal son of Camelot and that means waging war and leaving behind any allegiance you may have to that... upstart peasant."

"Yes, Sire," Arthur said, "of course. My loyalty was never an issue and I will support your decision. But please don't execute Raven yet. Keep him imprisoned of course but don't kill him. Not until we have proof he was working for Mercia; not until we know more."

"Very well," Uther said, "I don't agree but you're my son and so I will respect your recommendation. Raven stays in the dungeons until we know more. But when we do, he dies."

Arthur nodded and then left the room, his mind still working over the mysteries. _Still, it's good to have the king listen to me for once. It's good to have someone listen when you speak. Very good._

* * *

Morgana put the book down with a thump and slammed it shut; the noise startling her servant who was also reading in a chair by the window.

"Are you alright, My Lady," Gwen asked her.

Morgana's lips moved slightly in emulation of a smile, "I'm fine, Mo...G..., what should I call you?"

"The scroll says my name is Guinevere," she said, "but I... it feels a little too _ornate_ for me."

"How about Guin?"

Guin smiled, "That sounds better. More like me."

"And you can call me Morgana, since it is apparently my name. Assuming we can believe that rather convenient scroll."

"Convenient?"

Morgana sighed, picked up the book she had been reading and added it to the pile. She grabbed a new one, put it down, picked it up again and then turned back to her maid.

"The more I think about it," she said, "the more I feel like a puppet dancing to somebody else's tune. Raven... oh, what was his name again?"

"Merlin," Guin said, "The scroll said his name was Merlin."

"_Merlin_ opposed this war. He approached the situation logically, compassionately and systemically. He believed we needed to discover what was happening before we could choose a course of action. Someone went to a great deal of trouble to obscure our identities and then - _voila!_ Not only do we find a scroll that outlines in detail the identities of all the key players in our little saga. No, it conveniently discredits the one person who was building up this kingdom and taking care of its people rather than marching us all off to war."

"You think it's part of somebody's plan?"

"I think everything has been stage managed perfectly. Except Raven refused to stay to the script. If it wasn't for him, we'd already be at war. And now that he's out of the way..."

She sat back down at her dressing table and opened the book; hoping that it would have the spell she was looking for. Then she grimaced and swung angrily back around to her servant.

"And then that... _Uther_... or whatever the hell is name is has Raven arrested like some common criminal and locked up in a dungeon. He won't even let me _visit _him. Without Raven's kindness, his intelligence, his cunning, his... I just don't know what we will do without him."

"But, the Prat...," Guin started to argue.

"...has just found out he's the great Prince Arthur. Do you really think he's going to stand up to the king?"

"Yes," Guin said, "I do."

"Oh, Guin, please, for your own sake don't hold your breath in anticipation. I like the Prat, I really do. But he's no Raven."

Guin pursed his lips in temporary anger, turned back to her book and then slammed it down in frustration.

"I'm sorry, My Lady, but I need to speak my mind. Maybe Arthur hasn't shown himself to be the man Raven is. I would argue that that is because he hasn't had the opportunity. If the Prince's manservant can be a great leader than surely the Prince himself just needs the chance."

"I hope you're right, Guin, I really do. Otherwise, a lot of people are going to die. Now, no matter what our king says, we need magic to fight this magic. We need to find something to break this spell."

"It's not going to be much good to us unless we find a sorcerer to cast it."

Morgana gave her a glum look, "I know. I just..."

"You miss him," Guin said with a sympathetic look.

"I miss him," Morgana admitted softly, "These last few days, no matter what happened, as long as he was there holding my hand..."

"He made you feel safe?"

"No," Morgana said with a haunting look moving down her face, "He made me feel strong enough to keep myself safe. He made me feel as though we could make the world better, make people's lives better just by getting out of bed in the morning. He made the fight seem winnable."

Guin pushed the book off her lap and stood up, took the two short steps to her mistress and placed her hand softly on her shoulder.

"If that's true, My Lady," she said. "Then why on Earth are we sitting here reading?"

The Lady Emerald stood up, clasped her servant's hand to her breast and nodded.


	10. Chapter 10

**Thanks be to Tianne for the beta.**

* * *

**Chapter 10**

Gossip ran around Camelot like an excited child with a new toy; whispering and dancing and holding out its spoils for the world to see. Cooped up in his creaking comfortable house by the light of a hearth fire, the Smithy and the Washerwoman listened to the whispers of the passing crowds and solemnly prepared themselves for the new day.

The Washerwoman reached out one gnarled wizened hand to hold Smithy's large, burnt one.

"I thought," she said and then she stopped. She didn't know how to tell him the thoughts pecking at her brain like a murderous crow. Words had never been her strength.

The Lower Town was burning and the new morning was heating up as it had the day before. Smithy and the Washerwoman had fought the fires all night and had come to the courtyard the next morning to hear Raven speak. They'd all assumed he would come and help them work out what to do next. But Raven hadn't come.

The crowds had milled about confused and afraid and had finally dispersed. Then the rumours began, flying through the town like black birds bearing poor fortune.

Raven was imprisoned, they squawked. The King had been found. The Lady Emerald was also in the dungeons – no, stripped of rank and outcast – no, just in her quarters until the king could be assured of her loyalty.

Prince Arthur, whom none of the populace could remember ever seeing before, was said to be in charge now. It was he, they were told by King Uther who was also a stranger, who would lead them off to glorious battle with Mercia.

All able-bodied men of age were ordered to report to the barracks to be catalogued and armed. They would march at daybreak the next day. Any able-bodied men of age who failed to register would be assumed to be an agent of Mercia and hung.

"I have to go," Smithy told the woman huddled frightened by his fire.

"This is madness," she said, "I don't understand how they know this Mercia is to blame. They say it over and over as though that somehow makes it true and everyone around us just..."

"They need someone to blame," Smithy said gently. "We shouldn't judge them for their fear."

She looked up at his kind brown eyes; her own pale ones flashing steel suddenly.

"Yes, we should."

"Washy," he said gently, affectionately, suddenly wishing he knew her real name.

She met his eyes again struggling to find the words, "I know," she said, "I know in my bones that I used to just..." She sighed.

"So do I," he said; relieving her of the burden of words, "We're simple people. It's clear by everything about us. We've always been here just... sitting... while the world went mad around us."

"But we don't have to anymore," she insisted, "don't you see? We should be free of that now. We don't even... We should..."

"Fight?"

She nodded defiantly.

"Okay," he said, "but how?"

She shook her head, a little defeated at the thought.

"I think," she said finally, "I think that in times like these the opportunity will make itself known. We just have to..."

"Seize it," he finished for her.

He reached out his free hand and slipped a slayward strand of hair behind her ear.

"You're wrong," he said.

"How so?"

"Because... as a plan it still just involves us sitting here."

"So what do we do?" she asked him seriously.

He sat for a moment; a pensive look on his usually place face. The moment drew out while he considered the possibilities and then he answered: "Like you said, we're simple people. If anybody can get a message to Emerald it's an old washerwoman. And this simple house is the last place anyone would look for her and Raven."

The washerwoman smiled slightly, "She'd have to break him out."

"I think someone who does the laundry might be useful there too," he said with a gentle smile.

She squeezed his hands, "You go and register. And this old and useless woman who's no good for fighting will go to the castle and see if there's anything that needs cleaning."

He leant down and kissed her lightly on her faded cheek.

"That's what I call a plan," he whispered. And he stood up, hoisted his bag on his massive shoulders and walked out the door to do his duty for the true leaders of Camelot.

* * *

Emerald held up the torch and heard the reverberating slap of her slippers on the stone floor as she slipped down the stairs to the dungeons.

"My Lady," a guard greeted her respectfully if a little warily.

"I'm here to see Raven," she said archly, "I trust that won't be a problem?"

"I'm sorry, My Lady," the guard said, "but we have strict orders that _Merlin_ is not to have any visitors."

"Even the king?"

The guard looked confused, "Of course not. Naturally, the king can visit whomever he pleases."

"And the king's beloved ward, the Lady Morgana, a member of the royal family?"

"I'm sorry, My lady, I don't know you. I can't let you in."

"Of course you don't know me," she said smoothly, "you don't know anybody. None of us do. That's part of our problem, isn't it?"

"Well yes," he conceded, "but..."

"And only a day ago you were imprisoning people based on my orders... and on Raven's."

"True, but..."

"I'm not asking you to release the man you were obeying implicitly just twenty-four hours ago and who has done nothing but protect Camelot from thieves, murderers and rapists. I'm just asking to speak to him. As a member of the royal family."

The guard wilted for a moment then recovered his spine, "I'm sorry, My Lady, I really am. If it were my decision..."

"It is," she said, "Who will know? I give you my word I will not try to free him. I just need to see that the man that I... the man that I... love... is in good health."

She forced a tear to well up in her eye and blinked a few times furiously to send it coursing down her cheek.

"We have so little to rely on in this strange world. He's all I have." She took the guard's hand. "Please. Just one minute and then I will leave."

The guard put his other hand over hers and gave it a sympathetic squeeze. "Very well, My Lady. One minute. It'll be our secret."

"Thank you," she gushed, "you're a good man."

She withdrew her hand and walked into the cells past the man that she and Raven had locked up for looting and other crimes. They hooted and jeered at her as she passed but she ignored them as she searched behind the bars for raven hair and ebony skin.

"Emerald," a voice called from the end of the room.

"Raven," she called back, emotion welling up in her. She strode quickly to his cell and stood, bars in hand, as he pulled himself up from dirty straw and kissed her quickly, fiercely.

She kissed him back and then took his hands, "I only have a minute. It's all I could get from the guard."

"What's happening?"

"Arthur... the Prat... found a scroll. It was a series of portraits of the royal family. King Uther - the one we called Crown - his son, Prince Arthur – the Prat – his ward, the Lady Morgana," she stopped and placed a hand on her breast, "That's me. And our servants were in it too. Guinevere – that's Moor – and Merlin, Prince Arthur's manservant."

Raven closed his eyes and nodded, "That would be me. My name is Merlin?"

Emerald nodded.

"I don't understand," said Raven, "If I was a peasant then why..."

"We don't know. But Uther believes it was deliberate and that you are a Mercian spy sent to frustrate our attempts to strike back at our enemy."

Raven slammed the metal bars in frustration. "Then we are at war?"

"We will be tomorrow morning. All men are being rounded up to fight. They march at dawn."

"I don't...," he stopped and looked at her, "You don't believe that I..."

"No! What I think is that this scroll is a forgery. I think it was planted. But I don't know by whom."

"Someone who wants war between us and Mercia," Raven said. He gave her an intensely pensive look, "Gaius. It has to be. Our dreams..."

She nodded. "Blazing eyes. Cold and dark. That's all I remember. But the _feeling_ when he's near..."

"I have it too. I haven't even stopped to ask why or what his motives could be."

"We haven't had time."

"I have. Last night in this cell I had nothing but time to think. And I think that..."

"My Lady," the guard called as he came up behind her, "Your time is up."

She thought for a minute about arguing but then smiled and nodded. If she was going to free Raven she needed his goodwill.

"Of course," she said. She kissed Raven quickly then turned and dropped a coin in the guard's hand.

"Thank you so much for giving me this peace of mind," she told him genuinely, "I am so grateful. If you don't mind, I'd like to send him down some proper food and maybe a change of clothes?"

The guard gave a pleased nod and pocketed the gold as the Lady Emerald swept out of the dungeon.

* * *

Guin paused outside the Prat's – Arthur she corrected herself, Prince Arthur – rooms, smoothed down her simple dress, took a deep breath and knocked.

To her surprise, Blankie answered the door.

"Oh, I... sorry, I... um... I was here to see... I wasn't expecting." She took another breath and smiled to hide her mental recovery, "I'm sorry, Blankie. I'm here to see Arthur. I didn't know you'd be here."

"The prince gave me the position after Raven... Merlin... was locked up," Blankie explained. "Thinks I was probably his servant anyway."

"Well, I'm glad," said Gwen who didn't care at all, "Am I able to get an audience? Wow, I never thought I'd say that."

Blankie nodded and let her in to the antechamber. A minute later, Arthur came out dressed in a delicately-embroidered red shirt and a pair of tan trousers.

"Wow," she found herself saying, "you look like a prince."

"I am a prince," he said dourly. "Apparently. Now, what can I do for you..."

"Guin," she said, "I thought that Guinevere was too..." She fluttered her hand to indicate the general uneasiness she felt about being the high-falutin Guinevere.

"I disagree. Guinevere is as beautiful as you are."

Guin blushed; glad the darker colouring of her skin would hide it.

"What can I do for you, Guinevere?"

"It's Raven... um, Merlin. Lady Emerald and I... I mean, Lady _Morgana_ and I..."

She blushed again and he smiled tiredly.

"I've had the same problem all day," he admitted. "How about we just call them what feels natural?"

"Well then, in that case, the Lady Emerald and I have been discussing Raven's imprisonment and we feel..."

"Guinevere," he interrupted her, "please don't finish that sentence. I've barely convinced the king not to execute him for treason. There's no way he'd agree to release him. The only thing Morgana achieves by continuing to oppose Uther is to convince him that she cannot be trusted. He believes her compromised."

Gwen bristled at that, "If anything, Emerald's continued loyalty to Raven proves his innocence. She is far from stupid and she knows him better than any of us. Prat, please, you must know that Raven's guidance is the only thing that has kept this kingdom together."

"My name is Arthur," he said.

Gwen whitened slightly at his tone, "My apologies, Your Highness. I didn't... "

"Guinevere," he said gently and he took one of her hands in his own, "you're a good person and a loyal one. But you need to stay out of this. I don't know if Raven is working for Mercia or not. I know... we all know... so little. But I do know this kingdom is under attack and the little evidence we have incriminates Mercia. If Raven is innocent, he is better off under lock and key until we know what's going on."

"And you believe that tramping off to invade another kingdom in the hopes that our memories will just flood back at the point of a sword is the right course of action?"

"Actually, no," Arthur said, "but it is what my father is set on and he is the king."

She pulled her hand away, "So says a piece of parchment written and planted by the Gods know who. I guess that when the evidence fits your preferences you're ready to believe anything."

"That's not fair."

"Isn't it? I don't care what some piece of paper says Raven's rank is. He is still Raven and this kingdom needs him. If you won't help, Emerald and I will find someone who will."

She turned to leave, pulling the heavy door open and turning back to him with tears threatening to spill. "I'm... very disappointed in you," she managed and she swept from the room pulling the door behind her with a satisfying thud.

* * *

Emerald pushed open the door to her elegant empty chambers and looked around them sadly. She imagined for one moment the tall angular form of her lover smiling at the table in the centre of her room and then forced herself out of melancholy. She had too much to do.

Guin stormed in and slammed the door shut behind her.

"No success?" Emerald asked her with one inquiring eyebrow.

"You were right. One whiff of power and he...," she kicked a cushion off a chair and watched it sail satisfyingly across the room.

Emerald smiled, "I like you angry. You should try it more often."

Guin calmed herself with a nervous twitch of her hands.

"How did you fare?" she asked Emerald.

"I got in and managed to see the guards, the layout and that Raven is alright. I've also given us a reason to send someone down there. Not me. They have strict orders and I don't think they'll disobey them too often. Our new King Uther seems a little ruthless."

"Then his son's a coward," Guin declared.

"Or just as confused as we are, perhaps?"

"No, My Lady, we're not confused. We know exactly what we need to do. It's just the how that needs to be worked out."

"Maybe we can help with that," said a voice from the door.

Emerald and Guin started; having not heard it open.

"Blankie?"

Blankie walked into the room flanked by a vaguely-familiar older woman with the hands of someone who'd worked hard their whole life.

"I heard what you said to Arthur," Blankie told them, "Raven was there for me when I needed him. I have no intention of turning my back on him. And this is... well, we call her the Washerwoman."

"You were there that first morning," Emerald said, remembering the woman who'd helped them with the law and order problem.

"Yes, My Lady," she said shyly. She gave a short bob. "I've come with a proposal."

"Please, come in and sit down," the lady asked her, "you look exhausted and a little..."

"Frazzled might be the word," the Washerwoman said with a smile, "Many of us have been up all night fighting the fires from the attack. And the weather out there today... we're scared the storm will come again."

"It does feel unusually humid," Guin agreed.

"And then this war... My Lady, Smithy and I – oh, he's the blacksmith – we want to make you an offer. We believe that you and Raven are the only ones with our interests at heart; the only ones asking the right questions. I will help you break Raven out of the dungeons and then we can give you all a place to hide and to plan. We only have a simple house and we're hardly warriors but..."

"No, it's perfect," Emerald interrupted her, "You have a reason to be in the dungeons and no one would ever suspect we were at your home. It's absolutely perfect. But dangerous. Are you sure that you..."

"No more dangerous than war, My Lady. No more dangerous than ignorance and hate that has no reason or purpose."

"It doesn't matter who we are, My Lady," said Blankie, "in the end we will all die. I'd rather it be for something worth fighting for. I don't believe this war will give me that."

"Neither do I," said Guin.

"Or I," agreed the Washerwoman.

Emerald smiled; a dazzling hopeful smile that broke out of her face like sunlight.

"Then let's get to it. We have a jailbreak to plan and a massacre to stop. And whoever has done this to our kingdom, whoever is behind this, I hope they're quaking in fear. Because we will find them and we will win. Together."

* * *

Across the lightning-blasted hills surrounding Camelot, the squawking murder of crows fleeing from the burning trees and wooden houses in the blazing Lower Town, and across the fields of untended wheat and corn outside the city's walls lies Idirsholas.

Inside the ruins, where fire cannot burn until the frozen Knights within them rise again, an old man with hair so grey it was almost white and the robes of a court physician carefully stood up and looked at the bright day outside where an evil dark storm of roiling clouds and lightning was gathering over his city.

"Uther's faithful servant," said a voice behind him.

He turned to see a tall and athletic woman with gold-tinged eyes and wild blonde hair.

"It's ironic in a way that you probably don't realise yet."

"What is?" he asked her, "Who are you and what am I doing here?"

"I saved you from him," she told him, "and together, you and I are going to save Camelot."

"From what?" He gave her an appraising look, "From whom?"

"Well now, physician," she said smoothly, "that is a very long story."


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N If I had chapter titles, I think I'd have to call this !exposition! **

* * *

**Chapter 11**

"Merlin," the voice called in his mind.

"Merlin," it said again.

Raven tossed on the scratchy straw but didn't wake; the sonorous voice weaving its way into his dreams.

"Merlin!" it called more insistently. "Break yourself free, Merlin."

A face swam into his mind; reptilian, ancient, _magic_. "Find your power, Merlin," it called through a haze of forgetfulness.

"Merlin!"

Raven's eyes flicked open in the muggy darkness of the dungeons; the small thin strip of light his only guide that it was still daylight.

Thunder rolled heavily in the distance and his stomach dropped at the thought of another magical storm. He stood up and stretched; his long skinny limbs complaining about the confinement and lack of exercise.

"Lord Raven," a whispered voice called him from outside his cell. "Lord Raven, are you there?"

He peered through the bars to see a wrinkled woman grown old more through work than years.

"The Washerwoman, isn't it?" he asked her.

She blushed, pleased. "You remember me."

"Of course. Camelot's safety is as much thanks to you as it is to Emerald and I."

"No," she said, "I didn't do anything much."

Raven just nodded, recognising her inherent modesty.

"What are you doing here?" he asked her.

"Lord Raven," she told him, "we're here to break you out."

"We?"

She shook her head to forestall his questions.

"No time. The storm will come again. It's our diversion. When it comes, I need you to dress in these clothes, "she handed him a guard's raiment from the bottom of her pile of laundry, "and escape with this."

She slipped a large metal key through the bars; stolen from the prince's chambers that morning by Blankie.

"Do you know the blacksmith's house?" she asked him.

Raven nodded; knowing most of the city from his census.

"Meet us there as soon as you can. Don't be seen. Smithy – the blacksmith – is laying a false trail out of Camelot as we speak."

She pulled back and said loudly, "Now stand back from the bars, dear. I need to slosh some water in there to clean it."

Raven nodded, stepped back and tried not to feel chagrined as she threw a bucket of warm soapy water at his head.

"There you go, lovey," she said, "that smells better, doesn't it?"

Raven wiped soapy water off his chin and forced a smile.

"I'm all done here," she called to the guards, "Best I can do without opening the cell."

She shuffled off while Raven changed into the guard's uniform and waited for the storm.

* * *

Emerald paced the room trying to ignore the determinedly-calm Guin sitting primly in a chair nearby.

"My Lady," her maid said finally, "this impatience serves no purpose."

"Since it keeps me from stabbing this 'Uther' person I would disagree," Emerald said. She'd had another blazing row with the king that morning when she'd petitioned him to let her out of her chambers. He'd patronisingly called her his 'dear girl' and had implied she was locked up for her own protection.

"Until we can be sure that you are free of Raven's influence," he'd said, "it's better if you stay confined. As Mercia's agent, he is likely to have magic and we have no way of knowing how it has affected your mind. I'm only trying to ensure your safety."

"My safety," she seethed to Guin, "as though I were an imbecile or some precious bauble. And Gaius was there with this infuriating humbly-supercilious look on his face. He's behind this, I'm sure."

"Can someone be humbly-supercilious?" Gwen asked her, curiously.

"Oh, you know what I mean. It's an act, all of it. He's laughing at them even while he's pretending to be their humble servant and they're falling for it. And what evidence does all this boil down to? That letter: that convenient letter, that convenient scroll. Everything is just too convenient."

"Morgana," Guin said calmly, using the other woman's real name for the first time, "we know all this. Uther not letting you out just means Plan B. Today, magic is our friend and when the storm hits we run. It's as simple as that."

Emerald nodded and smiled wryly, "You're right. It seems I can add impetuousness and a temper to Morgana's personality."

Guin returned her smile, "Yes, it appears we're getting to know ourselves in the worst way possible. Like... I don't know."

"Like we're a stranger we've been locked into a room with for a week. We simply have no choice."

Guin nodded, "I seem to have trouble expressing a coherent thought."

"And I seem to be stubborn. And _jealous_."

"You have nothing to be jealous of," Guin reassured her.

"You say that as though it makes a difference," Emerald said with a wry smile and Guin laughed.

Emerald sat down next to her friend and waited for the storm.

* * *

Gaius, white-haired and arthritic, stood in the dismal ruins of the castle looking at the storm swooping toward Camelot on black wings.

"Is that the threat?" he asked the woman standing impassively behind him, "Is that what we must fight against?"

"That is almost nothing," the blonde woman said calmly. "It is serendipity: a happy accident for those who threaten this kingdom. The real threat is much greater."

"How so?"

"It echoes through time. It changes destiny."

"What on Earth do you mean? Who are you?" Gaius asked her sharply, "Why am I here?"

"He needed your position, your influence. So he replaced you. Once that happened, you were... inconvenient. But I stopped your obliteration. As for who I am: my name is Morgause. Not that that will mean anything to you now."

Gaius nodded at her to continue and her face softened slightly; her first real show of emotion.

"I expected you to be kind. I am glad I was not wrong. If another stood before me now they would be raving and demanding. But that's why he chose you. The spell does not wipe the mind but bury it. Who we are stays intact on a fundamental level and instinct is a powerful force. They all trust you implicitly. So now he has their trust even if they do not remember why."

"You do realise I have no idea what you're talking about," Gaius said with a single wry raise of his eyebrow.

She dipped her chin briefly and then sat down on the remains of some ancient pillar; her loose trousers and jerkin swimming on her tall lean frame.

"There are prophecies," she began, "Hundreds of them. They are roads forked from roads. Turn left instead of right and a new path leads to a new future. But like the many roads that lead to Rome, many choices lead to one defining moment. War. A great war. Chaos and death. Albion slicing off its own limbs like a man possessed. There are those whose existence is dependent on this war. This... cataclysm."

"Who?" Gaius asked her seriously; mirroring her by seating his tired old bones down on a pillar.

"The old Gods. Older even than the old religion. The ones before. Macha. Badb..."

"The Morrigan," Gaius finished for her, "The Raven Women."

"Those who bring war on their wings," Morgause nodded; approving of his knowledge. "The crows above the battlefield."

"The priestesses at Avalon have foreseen a time when this prophesied war will not happen. Camelot's peace with Mercia, Emrys' kindness toward Mordred, his friendship with Morgana: these have led us to the lesser path. In this future, Kilgharrah never flies free, Morgana leads a happy and productive life as a healer, Arthur succeeds his father as the great king he could be, Albion is united, peace reigns."

Gaius smiled, "It sounds like Utopia."

Morgause straightened her spine and her eyes, already glinted with gold, shone with a feline light.

"Macha has seen that future too and her vision of Utopia is very different from yours, physician."

"She's trying to recreate a prophesied future? But how...?"

"War. Here and now. If Camelot will be a beacon of peace then she believes Camelot should fall. Once it is gone, it's... unifying influence... will be wiped from destiny."

"But how?" Gaius asked her, "Uther is committed to peace with his neighbours. He's devoted the last twenty years to stabilising Camelot's borders."

Morgause's eyes flashed with impatience and a fierce repressed anger.

"If we wish to work together, physician, then I suggest you do not speak with any enthusiasm of the tyrant to me. Uther's death is a necessary part of any grand future. And it must come before he can corrupt his son's heart."

"Then - if you'll forgive me for being so blunt - why would you want to help?"

"Under Macha's plan, all of Camelot will fall. Emrys will die. Arthur will die. Morgana will die. I... do not wish that."

She looked momentarily emotional. "In Avalon they have sensed the turning of the prophecies but they do not intervene. I cannot be so unconcerned. I despise Uther but do not want Camelot wiped from history. It is the only hope for a future where my kind can be free."

"Fine," Gaius said, "now that we've dealt with the why perhaps you can tell me the how. As much as you despise Uther, his policy on magic has kept Camelot peaceful and prosperous for twenty years. And he is not an easy man to manipulate."

Morgause's face tightened at him once again praising his king but then relaxed. She nodded and stood up again; pacing across the dim floors as she continued her explanation.

"Macha has sent her consort Belatucadrus to Camelot to start a war; a brutal and chaotic war of which no one will be the victor. Belatucadrus has taken your place and cast a spell to bind people's memories – and with it any magical abilities they may have. He has blamed the spell on Mercia and they are even now preparing for war."

Gaius strained his memory for a moment, "Belatucadrus," he muttered, "where have I...?"

"Beautiful death," Morgause explained, "And that is what he brings."

"There's nothing beautiful about death," Gaius argued.

"I agree. But he would not. He does his mistress' bidding. And he will turn Albion into the Land of Badb. Unless we stop him."

"Well then," Gaius said, pulling himself up onto his feet and steadying himself unsteadily, "what are we waiting for?"

For the first time, Morgause smiled.

* * *

Behind them both, the storm hit.


	12. Chapter 12

**Thanks to Tianne for the beta**

**Chapter 12**

Raven ran. As lightning flashed about his feet and rain lashed his uniform, he darted through the streets of Camelot hoping that he wasn't stopped by the guards or the storm or sheer clumsiness.

He'd never run before, he realised. Not once in his short life had he been forced to move faster than a walk but here he was careening clumsily over wet, uneven cobblestones; his lanky frame trying to spill him onto the street with each angular stride.

"Apparently Merlin is no athlete," he muttered to himself, "Lucky me."

As the spent fires from the previous day burst once more into flame and the citizens scattered, he became just one more fleeing body in the street.

He rounded a corner, oriented himself and then flew down two more streets to the small stone house with the red roof that was also the smith. He pounded on the door and it was opened by Emerald who drew him inside.

He hugged her quickly and turned to face the warm room of friendly faces. The Washerwoman gave him a small smile from where she was making tea over the fire, the Blacksmith was setting the table for a meal and Guin and Blankie were huddled dripping under a blanket by the hearth.

"Thank you," he said simply.

The Washerwoman stood up and handed him a mug of hot tea that he grasped gratefully. He put his other arm around Emerald's waist and kissed her softly, "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. The storm was a well-timed diversion."

Raven turned to the group staring expectantly at him and felt for a moment like he really was Merlin: a servant suddenly promoted past his expertise. He sat down at the table to give him time to gather his thoughts and Emerald sat beside him and took his hand. He smiled at her and placed his other hand on hers.

"So," he said for want of a better place to start, "I'm not sure what Emerald's told you all. I'll tell you what we know. In the castle, there's a man named Gaius. Emerald and I believe he is behind this."

"Do you mean the memory loss or..." Blankie began to ask.

"The memory loss. We believe the storms are a coincidence or someone taking advantage of the confusion."

"Do you have any proof of this?" Blankie asked.

"Gaius is the one who found the evidence against Mercia and he... makes Emerald and my skin crawl."

"That's all?" Blankie asked him, sceptically, "He makes your skin crawl."

"He's... _wrong_," Emerald said, "That's the only way I can explain it."

Blankie raked his hands through his dark blonde hair and looked frustrated, "That's not much."

"When we lost our memories," Raven tried to explain, "someone removed everything from the castle that could help us work out who we are. Our history, our genealogies: they even took the pictures off the walls."

"I am one of the few who has found their own quarters," Emerald added, "and there is not one personal thing in there that could tell me who I was."

"Only two scraps of information have been found," Raven continued, "and one of them is a letter telling us exactly who our enemy is. Whoever cast this spell is extraordinarily powerful and has gone to great lengths to... scrub us clean. Why would they leave a letter outlining exactly what happened and who is to blame?"

"And Gaius – you think because he had the note he is behind this?"

"Or working for our real enemy. When the storm hit, Gaius was quick to blame Mercia as well. And once again: if Mercia could send storms like this and wipe our memories, why haven't they conquered us by now? No, our real enemy is someone else. Someone much more powerful."

"But what do they want?" Blankie insisted, "What is their purpose?"

"War," said Raven, "They want war."

"Maybe they're an enemy of Mercia's who want to use us to wipe them out?" speculated Guin. Blankie nodded at that but Raven shook his head.

"If they can do this, they could have destroyed Mercia themselves."

"Then why do they need us?" Guin asked him, "Why did they do this to us?"

"I don't know but the minute they realised I was asking too many questions, frustrating the war effort, a scroll appeared discrediting me. Now, I'm not saying the scroll is a lie. For all I know I am Merlin, Prince Arthur's manservant, and you all have no reason to follow me. But..."

"But the minute you were locked away the march to war began," the Blacksmith finished. "It makes sense. But you are wrong, Raven."

The Washerwoman smiled and touched Smithy's arm with obvious affection.

"You have given us every reason to follow you," she said. "You're the one who was there for us when we needed you. Now we are there for you."

Raven blushed and Emerald smiled affectionately at his discomfort.

"Thank you," was all he said. "Because I am going to need you. Breaking this spell should be our main objective but I admit I have no idea how. We don't just need a counter spell; we need a sorcerer. And we need to stop these storms as well. There's no point avoiding war if we're destroyed anyway."

Emerald sighed, "Guin and I looked through the magical books we found. Even when we could read the text there was nothing that could help us with this. We brought a few volumes with us in case someone here discovered they could read... whatever language they're in."

"We'll all try," the Washerwoman assured her.

"Good," said Raven, "Now, while we work to restore our memories, we need to try to discredit this Gaius and for that we need the Prat."

"Good luck," said Guin sharply, "You seem to have named him well."

Blankie gave her a softly sympathetic look and put his arm around her, "I'm afraid this Prince Arthur seems to have grasped his new power with enthusiasm," he said.

"I asked him to help us," said Guin flatly, "He refused."

"Well, his life has been turned upside down more than anybody's," said Raven, "He just needs time to remember who he is."

"And who is he?" Emerald asked him snidely.

"A prat," said Raven, "and a royal one. But with a good heart - if not the sharpest mind. He's worked tirelessly for this kingdom since we lost our memories. If you can get me into the castle..."

"No offence, Raven," interrupted Guin, "but we just went to a great deal of trouble to smuggle you _out_."

"She's right," Smithy said, "You and Emerald need to stay here now. If you insist on approaching this Arthur, send Guin and Blankie."

Raven looked as though he wanted to argue but then nodded his head in agreement.

"Very well. Explain the situation to him and try to make him see he needs to stall this war so we can prove Gaius is a traitor."

He grinned suddenly, "Use small words."

The sudden levity broke a dam of worry in the group and they all joined him in laughter for a moment before the reality of their predicament sunk back in.

"And what will you do?" Blankie asked him.

"Emerald and I will look over these books again and try to find a way to stop this storm before it can do more harm. And then, if Arthur cannot be convinced we'll have to go to Mercia."

"Why?"

"To warn them. If we explain what's happening maybe we can find a way to avoid this war by talking sense to them."

Blankie nodded gravely and he and Guin stood up to go.

"If we leave now, the chaos will cover our return. We'll go to the Prat and try to talk some sense into him. But I don't like our luck."

The two left and the Blacksmith and Washerwoman went to the other room to give the two some privacy.

Raven sat for one pensive moment staring into the flames.

"Are you alright?" Emerald asked him.

"I had another dream. I fell asleep this morning in the cells. There was a voice calling to me."

"What was it saying?"

"I just don't...," he turned to her, "It's as though when I'm – when we're – asleep, somebody is trying to tell us something. Maybe our true selves. Maybe somebody else. And then when we wake up, the spell snaps down on our minds again. I just remember... a deep voice. A voice I trusted. He called me Merlin."

"Do you think maybe we should try... going to sleep?"

Raven grinned, "As plans goes that seems somewhat underwhelming. And it seems we'd just forget what we learned anyway. No, I'm thinking we should try to find a spell that simulates sleep. Or lets us... walk in our dreams. If that's possible," he sighed, "I have no idea how magic works."

"I don't know," said Emerald with a smirk, "any plan that involves us going to bed seems the preferable one."

Raven shook his head affectionately, "Let's keep that as our backup option, shall we?"

"Always."

"So, books."

She rolled her eyes at the ceiling, "Books."

* * *

Arthur leant back in his chair, felt his eyes droop and then sat up straight again. In the secure and solid walls of the Solar, the Court – such as it was – was discussing the following day's march while chaos reigned outside.

He sighed inwardly as he considered the work of rebuilding their kingdom after all this was over.

"Sire," he said, interrupting Sash who had begun his report on the number and composition of able-bodied men they'd conscripted for their war, "I have to ask: considering the damage to the Lower Town, wouldn't it be better to wait until we'd at least put out the fires."

"Arthur, I understand your concern. I too grieve for the people in the Lower Town who've lost their homes. But this Kingdom is under attack and we must strike back. Once the sorcerer is dead, we can concentrate on more mundane threats."

"With all due respect, Sire, there seems little sense in fighting for a kingdom that may burn while we're away. At least... consider leaving some men here to help with the rebuilding so that..."

Uther sighed and gave his 'son' a look of affectionate disapproval, "Arthur, we have no idea of our enemy's strength. We have to throw ourselves at them with our full strength."

"But that's just my point," he argued, "We have no intelligence at all on this Mercia. Maybe... I hesitate to say this but maybe Raven was right. We need to spend some time investigating..."

"Enough," Uther stopped him, "The fact you need to use Raven's name proves the argument against. We march at dawn."

"And if the sorcerer in Mercia proves to not be the one who's sending the storm...?"

"I have no idea where this rumour came from," Uther said, "but the idea we are facing two sorcerers is ridiculous."

"Raven," Gaius suggested gravely, "He has spread this lie to ferment unrest."

"Agreed. This is a grievous untruth that must be stopped and anyone heard spreading this falsehood will be arrested. The war effort will not be undermined by gossip."

"Arrest people for expressing an opinion?" Arthur exclaimed disbelievingly, "You can't be serious."

"Oh, I am deadly serious. What you fail to understand is that we are fighting for our survival. Anyone who even _argues_ against this war is putting all our lives at risk. And I will not let our kingdom fall because of... a coward's wayward tongue."

Arthur's mouth worked words of dissent several times but before he could speak, the heavy stone door to the royal family's living quarters was pulled open and several guards piled into the room.

"Your Majesty," said one breathlessly, "Raven has escaped."

"What?" The King's expression went from thunderous to murderous in seconds. "How did this happen?"

"We don't know," the guard admitted, "In the confusion of the storm..."

"No confusion is sufficient to explain the escape of the most dangerous man in Camelot. You will all be disciplined and harshly."

"Sire," Sash stood up and faced his King, "I'll lead the search myself. He will be found."

"Very well. Arthur, you should go to the barracks and continue the work of preparing our forces to march. Nothing stops us from marching tomorrow: not magical storms or escaped criminals or anything else."

"Yes, Sire."

He paused for a moment wondering why he was so discomfited by the way events were shaping up then shook his head and headed to the barracks.

* * *

"Gods," Raven exclaimed, looking in astonishment at the ornately-decorated page in front of him.

"What is it?" Emerald asked him; concerned at the colour draining out of his already-pallid skin.

"I can read this," he breathed, "I know what it says."

Emerald looked down at the incomprehensible scrawl on the page in front of him.

"What language is it?"

"I have no idea," he said, "but I can read it. It makes perfect sense to me."

He put the book down flat on the table and laid one light tapered finger on the delicate paper.

"It's a spell for revealing that which is hidden."

He flicked the page and a small smile began at the edge of his full mouth.

"This is for floating objects. This is for healing a broken bone. This is for confirming love is returned. This is for knowing the mind of one's enemy..."

"Well, that could be useful."

"Are you serious?" Raven said; his smile turning into a broad grin, "This is incredible. Wait."

He flicked quickly through the spell book and then demanded another; reading page after page of magical spells.

"I've got it," he said excitedly. "It's perfect!"

Emerald looked at his sudden rush of boyish enthusiasm with amusement; noticing with surprise how young he still was. At least a few years younger than her.

"This is a spell for a living dream."

"What does that mean?"

"I think it means we can see a person's dream as they're dreaming it."

"But how?"

Raven shrugged his shoulders helplessly, "I guess there's no harm in trying?"

"No, I mean, what do we need to do?"

"Oh, it's an incantation."

"So we just say some words and the magic happens? Raven, there must be more to it than that."

"Well, the other person needs to be asleep first and _having_ the dream so..."

He gave her a somewhat deflated look, "I may have gotten prematurely excited."

She gave his hand a fleeting squeeze and turned back to the book.

"Well, what about the storm?"

"There is a spell here to dissipate what it calls a localised spell."

"The storm's huge," she argued, "it covers the entire city and who knows how much of the countryside."

"Yes, but it's..." he struggled with the worlds for a moment, "it's just _one thing_. I think that's what localised means."

He interrupted her interruption, "And no, I don't know how I know that. I just do."

She paused and then nodded, "Then let's try it. I mean, you should try it. It must mean something that you know how to read this language."

"Ok."

He stretched out his hand and then gave her an embarrassed look, "I already feel ridiculous."

"I know," she said, "it's the ears. They just don't scream magician. Still, if they did, you would definitely hear them."

His lips quirked at that and he shot her a look of mock anger before concentrating on the words to the spell.

"Ic I ámiere galdorcwide," he pronounced seriously. He and Emerald looked up at thatched roof in anticipation but the storm kept raging above them.

Raven closed his eyes for a moment, took a deep breath and spoke the words slowly and clearly.

"Ic I ámiere galdorcwide."

"Well, it's not as though we thought we were secretly sorcerers," she consoled him, "It was a long shot to begin with."

He lowered his arm in frustration, "If we could use magic..."

"Well, we'll just have to use our other skills. And from what I've seen the last few days, we have plenty."

He nodded, "You're right."

He closed the book and walked over to the fireplace to stare for a moment at the dancing flames; the popping embers and white hot flare on the surface of the wood.

Emerald watched him concerned from the other side of the room: the tall angular form, the thick black hair with curls determinedly forming at the ends, and the ears she'd made fun of pocking out slightly from his head.

He turned his head to face her suddenly and she was struck by the dark, almost black, eyes that stared back at her: incisive, deep and emotional. They were bright blue normally, she was sure, but now in the dim room they looked... like a Raven's. Black and hard like agate. She saw an image of black eyes in her mind and shivered. She'd named him well.

"The dream," he said softly, "The voice in my dream. That's who we need. What if he was in my mind? What if I could... contact him?"

"How?" she asked him, disconcerted – almost frightened – at the change in him.

Raven strode back to the table, opened the book, placed his palm on the page and closed his eyes.

"Raven?"

Raven felt the scratchy ancient paper behind his fingertips and concentrated on the sensation on his calloused fingers.

_My fingers are calloused,_ he thought, _and worn. Why didn't I notice that before? That small detail alone..._

He summoned in his mind the feel of the dream from that morning. Ancient, reptilian, _magic_. Power and a great swallowing intellect: depths of need and shifting emotion.

_Hello_, he called into the blackness, H_ello. Hello._

And then in the swimming inky nothingness, he felt a breath of something flick against his mind.

Merlin_,_ it breathed. _Merlin_.

With a breathless stab, he felt something lift and jerk and power flooded through him like the lighting from the storm.

"Raven," Morgana said tentatively, "Raven..."

His eyes snapped open; huge and dark.

"Ic I ámiere galdorcwide," he commanded. "_Ic I ámiere galdorcwide._"

And above them, the maelstrom... stopped.

A woman's enraged shriek echoed through Raven's mind.

He gave Emerald one victorious smile and then the lid in his mind snapped shut and he fell to the floor with a thump.


	13. Chapter 13

**If you favourite my stories, please review.**

**Thanks to Tianne for being the bestest beta**

* * *

**Chapter 13**

_Merlin,_ the woman's fierce whisper hissed in Raven's mind, _you will pay for this._

* * *

In the Solar, straight-backed against the cold stone wall and struggling to keep a smirk of victory off his face, Belatucadrus felt a flood of pure power dissipate the raging storm and stiffened.

_Merlin_, he heard Nimueh cry, _you will pay for this_.

The source of the power lit up like a beacon in his mind and he followed Arthur from the room with a tight smirk.

* * *

Raven's eyes fluttered open; the blurred ceiling with its dancing firelit shadows sharpening slowly into focus.

"Raven? Raven, are you awake?"

He tried to speak but a great lassitude fell over him and he fell back into unconsciousness.

* * *

Arthur opened the door and stared, sobered, at the sopping mess within; the splintered furniture, the water-stained covers from the destroyed bed, the strewn clothes lying in a bed of glass and splinters on the slippery stone floor.

He'd told the King – he could not think of the man as his father – that he was headed to the barracks but instead he'd come here to the rooms he'd been given when he became a Prince.

If he'd had any doubt about his true status it had fled when he'd looked in the wardrobe of his new rooms and found _his_ clothes. Clothes that fit him, matched his colouring, felt familiar on his skin. He really was Prince Arthur, heir to the kingdom of Camelot. What a disconcerting thought.

It was appropriate, he found himself thinking, that the room should be in such disarray. Whoever had done this had upended their world so completely – if they'd torn his room off the castle itself he would not be lying any less in its ruins now.

He walked crunching through broken tinted glass to the bare hole where the window had been before the storms and leant out to look upon his kingdom.

He was still there; lost in thought and confusion when Guin and Blankie snuck into the room.

He turned and looked at the two of them; annoyed they may have seen his vulnerability.

"Where have you been?" he asked Blankie, irritably. "We march tomorrow and you have work to do."

"Arthur," Guin chided him and Blankie gave her hand a squeeze.

She shot him a grateful look and then said bluntly, "Arthur, we helped Raven escape."

"You did what?" he said angrily. "Are you mad? If Uther finds out…"

"He'll only find out if you tell him," said Guin reasonably.

Arthur dampened his temper and asked tautly, "Why would you do such a thing?"

"You know why," Guin said. "We need him. We need you as well. Gaius is behind this."

"What are you talking about? Gaius is behind what?"

"The spell," Blankie tried to explain, "the memory loss. He wants us to go to war with Mercia."

"What?"

Guin clasped her hands in front of her dress and tried to explain.

"Arthur, we believe that Gaius is the one pulling everybody's strings. He's behind everything. We need you to try and convince the King that he can't be trusted. We need to stop this war."

"Do you hear yourselves?" Arthur asked them. "What proof do you have?"

"Raven says….," began Blankie.

"Raven says? That's it. You want me to disobey my King, consort with a known criminal, and the Gods know what else because _Raven says_. Why would I do that?"

"I don't know, Arthur," said Guin angrily, "perhaps because you can't possibly be as stupid as you seem."

"If you want my help _Guinevere_ then insulting me is not the best way to get it."

"Well logic and reason don't seem to be doing any good."

"Logic and reason are the only… reason… you two aren't in the cells right now. If you want me to commit treason then I need proof."

"Please," interjected Blankie, "both of you calm down. Arthur, you can't commit treason if you act in the best interests of the kingdom. Sash could just as easily be in charge right now. Or I could be. Or anybody. The important thing is the safety of Camelot not who wears the crown."

"He's just a man, Arthur," Guin said, "just like any other man or woman. You don't owe him anything."

"You're wrong. There is a way things should be. Otherwise it's all just…"

"Chaos?" Blankie asked rhetorically. "It was Raven and Emerald that saved us from that and you know it."

"We don't have proof, Arthur," Guin told him, "we just have the things we've seen. I know who I can trust. I feel it in my bones. You do too."

"Maybe," Arthur conceded, "but that's why…."

He rallied, "No. I'm sorry. Everybody's telling me they're acting in the best interests of Camelot but you can't all be right. At least with Uther's plan we're _doing something._"

"Well said, Sire."

The group turned to see Gaius at the door with a number of palace guards by his side.

"I was coming to see you, Your Highness, when I happened to overhear that you had… guests. Guards, arrest them and throw them in the dungeons. And then go to the blacksmith's house in the Lower Town. That's where you'll find their co-conspirators."

"Arthur!" Guin protested as the guards grabbed her, "Arthur, please."

"Gaius," Arthur protested, "there's no need to lock them away. It's Raven who's at fault here."

"He's corrupted them, I'm afraid. They've been touched by magic and cannot be trusted. The King has ordered everyone compromised by Raven to be imprisoned and that means them and the poor Lady Morgana."

"But Gaius..."

"I'm sorry, Sire, I have my orders. As do you."

"Arthur," Guin cried as they dragged her from the room, "Arthur, how did he know where the others were? You have to ask yourself some of the hard questions, Arthur, please. How did he know?"

* * *

He stepped softly, deliberately through the debris scattered like broken bodies on the ground. The trees - ancient oaks, elms and a few giant yews - threw shadows across the bricks, mortar and smashed cobblestones in the forested shade.

Autumn leaves blew and crunched underfoot; dead and brown and bereft of life. Behind the stray bird calls and the droning clicks of the crickets, he felt a silence so deep and thick it smothered like a blanket, enclosed him like a cell. It was absence. Emptiness.

A shriek broke the silence and he whipped his head around; a sharp snake of terror slithering up his spine. A crow stood on a dented golden crown buried deep within the dirt. It shrieked again and its call roused two others picking insects from a bleached skull lying near a familiar sword.

Their harsh chorus sounded like a cry of victory.

_Failure_, came a reptilian voice susurrus on the breeze, _failure._

The silence melted them away and in their place a familiar woman stood still and shimmering emerald on the barren forest floor. Lustrous black hair fell past her shoulders like feathers and her eyes glittered green in the gloom. A raven sat on her shoulder; black eyes eyeing him curiously.

"What's wrong, black bird?"

He tried desperately but couldn't speak; his throat swelling with the trapped words.

"They may be the battle," she said, "but you are death. Fly, blackbird."

He blinked and she flew to him on silent wings; eyes searing into his own, "Fly!"

* * *

Raven woke with a gasp; sitting upright in the hot, close room of the blacksmith's house.

"Emerald," he breathed. He wiped the sweat off his face and looked around the room, confused. It was empty and silent; the silence disconcerting him for some reason more than the emptiness.

He pushed open the door to the smith and to the single rough bedroom with its empty cot.

"Smithy," he called. "Emerald!"

He stumbled out into the empty street and began to jog and then to run; turning desperate corners as he searched the deserted town for signs of life. Burned, charred wreckages of buildings dotted the laneways and turnways of the Lower Town and as he ran into the hollow bareness of the courtyard he held back a sob at the desolation.

"Emerald!" he cried, "Prat! Where are you? Guin!"

Empty stables, ransacked inns, looted chambers, wind whistling lonely through the dungeons. And Emerald's room; stripped and bare and devoid of the vitality of life.

"Anybody!" he screamed finally. "Anybody!"

"What's wrong, black bird?"

He stopped, heart popping, white cheeks flushed with exertion, and turned to her; his pulse slowing as he realised why she was there.

"Did you think this was your dream?" she said. "You've made that mistake before. Death doesn't dream. It embodies its own destiny: as definite as pitch and as black. Dreams require colour. They want her to know that as little as they want you to remember your own power."

She gestured to a flight of stairs leading only downwards.

"He's waiting for you. But you don't have time. You need to fly, black bird. They're coming but they can't find you if you fly. They may be the beat but you are the drum. So fly."

Her face turned hard as a precious stone and the smile fled as she shimmered toward him.

"Fly!"

* * *

Raven woke with a gasp; sitting upright in the hot, close room of the blacksmith's house.

"Raven."

He turned to her as she clasped his hand and put one finger on his lips with a shake of her head. He followed her gaze and felt fear flood his body as he saw the palace guard storm into the room. Through the open door, he saw Smithy and the Washerwoman being bound to each other. He gasped as they were dragged from the house and into the street.

"Where's the others?" Sash strode into the room and stopped in front of them; joining his subordinate in looking suspiciously around their hiding place.

"There's no one here, Sir," the guard told him, "I've searched the whole house. If Lord Raven and the Lady Emerald were here, they're not here now."

Raven shot Emerald an astonished look and she shrugged her shoulders at his unspoken question.

"Merlin and Morgana," Sash corrected him, "Their names are Merlin and Morgana and neither of them deserves an honorific. They're traitors."

"Yes Sir. I'm sorry, Sir."

"Take the two prisoners to the cells. I'll take a last look myself and then tell the King the bad news."

The guards moved out and Sash stood for a moment in the centre of the room; a flat look of discontent on his face.

"Incompetent fool," he muttered. And then he turned and left, unwittingly leaving two confused and relieved fugitives on the hard stone floor.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

The late afternoon sun was baking the room when Emerald took a last half-hearted bite of a piece of bread, stood up from the table and moved to the hearth where Raven was lying prone by the fire.

She flicked the Washerwoman a questioning look and the older woman shook her head. Since the spell he'd been like this and they were running out of time.

"Guin and Blankie haven't returned," the Washerwoman whispered, "What should we do?"

"Prepare to go to Mercia," Emerald told her, "We have no choice. I need you and Smithy to pack some food and… we'll have to steal a horse. We won't get Raven out of the city without one."

Emerald was expecting the other woman to baulk at theft. To her surprise she simply nodded and left the room.

She considered Raven for a moment, still as death in the humid room, and allowed herself a moment of invisible panic. Was it the magic that had done this? The spell? Retaliation from whomever had sent the storm?

"How can I fight when I know so little of this world?" she asked him rhetorically, "For all I know we're mere pawns in someone else's plan. How do I even know we're not doing exactly what someone wants us to do right now?"

She slipped her hand in his and stroked it softly. His eyes fluttered open for a moment and she called his name hopefully.

"Raven? Raven, are you awake?"

Then his lids closed and he fell back into unconsciousness.

* * *

Gaius made it with one last arthritic step to the top of the hill and stopped for a moment; his breath coming fast and thick as his heart pounded.

"You need more exercise, physician," Morgause said as she bounded effortlessly up beside him.

"What I _need_ is to be forty years younger," he told her waspishly, "and to not be harangued by sorcerers for the crime of natural aging. So if you have a spell for that..."

"I do indeed, old man, but for the change to be anything but an illusion you must sacrifice the life of another. Of course, if you're insistent..."

"You know very well I'm not," he scolded her, "and I'd think you'd be more understanding of an old man's need to have a grumble now and then. With so many of life's pleasures gone, complaining is one of the few truly satisfying ones I have left."

"Of course. My apologies. Now, if your heart attack is over, I was hoping we could proceed."

"After you."

They walked down the other side of the hill and headed toward the Forest of Trelor; the dense neck of woods that bordered both Camelot and Mercia.

"It would be wise for us to avoid the border. We can't risk our own memories being stolen and should we cross into the enspelled region with any trace of magic on us, the pain would be extraordinary. Belatucadros does not want magical beings interfering with his plan."

Gaius nodded and followed her into the trees.

"But if there's a barrier at the border, what would happen if someone from the other side came through? Surely their memories would return?"

Morgause shook her head, "The memory loss is permanent until the spell is broken. Her plan would not work otherwise. Our only hope is to enlist Bayard's aid."

"And you believe that Bayard will listen to reason?"

"Bayard has been conveniently informed that Camelot is preparing to break its treaty and will launch an attack on him soon. His troops are already massed and he will march at daybreak unless we can convince him otherwise."

"And how do you think he will react when he hears our plan?"

Morgause smiled; a rare smile of genuine joy to contrast with her usual wry smirk.

"To be honest, physician, I think he may defy the laws of nature and give birth to kittens."

Gaius turned to her and laughed slightly.

"Well then, I hope I don't die of a heart attack. I want to live to see it."

* * *

"My Lady," the Washerwoman said, "I have us a horse. It's waiting for you at the stables. The groom is sympathetic; he won't give us away. I also had a friend from the kitchens load the saddlebag with food."

"Then things are already brighter," Emerad said with a deliberate cheerfulness. "Now we just need to pack some clothing. If you don't mind..."

"Of course," the white-haired woman said and left the room.

"Offlieg," breathed Raven suddenly. Emerald looked down at him tossing on the stone floor.

"Offlieg," he said again, more loudly this time.

"Raven," Emerald said, shaking him to try to force him awake, "Raven, what's wrong?"

"Offlíeg."

His eyes flicked open; deep black orbs. A bright gold ring defined the circle where his iris should have been and his eyes glowed gold in the firelight.

"Ahelle!" he yelled, "Ahelle!"

With a shattering burst, the door to the small house tore off his hinges and guards poured into the room.

Raven woke with a gasp; sitting upright in the hot, close room of the blacksmith's house.

"Raven."

He turned to her as she clasped his hand and put one finger on his lips with a shake of her head. She turned her head to the guards storming into the room and she felt him freeze beside her.

Through the open door, she saw Smithy and the Washerwoman being bound to each other. Raven gasped as they were dragged from the house and into the street.

"Where's the others?" Sash strode into the room and stopped in front of them; joining his subordinate in looking suspiciously around their hiding place.

"There's no one here, Sir," the guard told him, "I've searched the whole house. If Lord Raven and the Lady Emerald were here, they're not here now."

Raven shot Emerald an astonished look and she shrugged her shoulders at his unspoken question.

"Merlin and Morgana," Sash corrected him, "Their names are Merlin and Morgana and neither of them deserves an honorific. They're traitors."

"Yes Sir. I'm sorry, Sir."

"Take the two prisoners to the cells. I'll take a last look myself and then tell the King the bad news."

The guards moved out and Sash stood for a moment in the centre of the room; a flat look of discontent on his face.

"Incompetent fool," he muttered as he turned and left.

Emerald turned to Raven in astonishment; just in time to see his eyes roll and glaze as he once again surrendered to unconsciousness.

"Snap," she whispered, almost seeing the spell's trap slam down on his mind.

She allowed herself a small allotted time of panic and powerlessness and then picked up his limp body and carried him to the stables. Their only hope now was Mercia and she would make it if she had to drag him the whole way there.

* * *

In a dungeon - surprisingly clean but laced with dark patchwork corners filled with skittering, biting things - Blankie put his arm around Guin and she rested her head against his chest.

"You know what's strange," she told him.

He shook his head against her chocolate curls and she smiled.

"There's this strange part of me that just knows this is all going to turn out all right."

Blankie hesitated then kissed her gently.

"Me too. Raven and Emerald will save us."

She smiled and laced her fingers through his.

"It's all going to be all right."

* * *

Arthur had time to think. On some instinctive level he knew this was not usually the case. But for this moment, he had solitude and a mind that would not stop churning over the events of the day.

The sun was setting over the path outside his window and he looked at the long golden streams of rose-gold stretching their fingers toward the horizon. The army would march soon and war would be as inevitable as this sunrise. He closed his eyes for a moment and considered everything he knew about his world from the moment he had come into existence a week before.

His lips thinned and he slammed one gloved hand onto the windowsill. Then he grabbed the keys to the cells and moved silently, determinedly, down to the dungeons.

And inside his mind, a part of him he didn't even know existed began to sing.

* * *

"Sire," Sash began as he walked hesitantly into the breakfast room in the Solar, "I'm afraid that Merlin and the Lady Morgana have escaped. I'm sorry, Sire, I don't know how they evaded us."

"Magic," Uther whispered, as he stood up from his chair and walked to the fireplace. They'd been lit all over the Kingdom despite the summer heat. People found them comforting in a way they couldn't entirely express and he stared as it now as it flickered companionably in the hearth.

"It doesn't matter," he pronounced finally. "The army marches soon. There's little the traitors can do."

"Sire," Sash marshalled the courage to say, "I would like to apologise for my initial... enthusiasm. Trying to claim the throne when you clearly..."

Uther smiled; tired and small but a smile nonetheless, "It doesn't matter. Besides, I agreed with nearly all your decisions. You're obviously a man of status. Do not blame yourself for the failure to catch a sorcerer. His power is immense. But magic is immaterial beside righteousness. We will prevail. Now, go and join our men. They march soon and I want you by my side."

"Yes Sire. Thank you, Sire. I won't fail you again."

"I know you won't."

* * *

The axe blade swung through the brush toward her head and she rolled away from its lethal edge as it hit the packed dirt of the forest floor. She grabbed a blade as she rolled and then propelled herself into a crouch; scanning the clearing for her attacker.

Raven was still where she'd gently laid him; white and stiff on the grass. The fire she'd lit to boil some water was still burning. She thankfully hadn't slept long.

"Show yourself," she called out.

A twig snapped and a branch cracked to her left. She strained her eyes but couldn't see a movement that would indicate a person.

"I mean you no harm," she tried, hoping she wasn't completely wrong about why she had been attacked.

"My friend and I are travelling to the west. If you let us pass, we'll be on our way. We have no interest in anything belonging to you."

Her overture was met with nothing but silence. She took one quick gulp of breath and thought of her flight through the kingdom since she'd dragged Raven from Camelot the night before.

They'd been attacked repeatedly; desperate bands of people looking for food or clothing or just somebody to blame for their plight. Some had banded together into gangs and had begun roaming the countryside attacking anyone who might have something valuable.

Somehow she thought this person was the former rather than the latter. Their attack had been clumsy and she was pretty sure they'd been alone.

"I have some food here," she said, standing up and trying to look relaxed and unthreatening. "Enough to share."

"My name's Emerald. Well, that's just the name a friend gave me. But I like it."

There was a small noise to her right and a leathered man with a dark brown beard and bright eyes stepped out of the trees.

"I like it too," he said. "Please forgive my young friend..."

Emerald looked around; seeing no one.

"...she's a bit shy. She saw you and panicked. Strangers aren't exactly rare these days but they are still a threat."

"And I have a horse and provisions," Emerald added.

The man smiled wryly and acknowledged her point with a short bob of his head, "And you have a horse and provisions. Strangers may not be rare but food is."

Emerald nodded and put her knife into the belt she'd wrapped around her chainshirt and hose.

"Well, tell your friend that if she wants food then she had better make herself known. I'm not sharing a meal with a shadow."

She used a piece of cloth to pull the kettle off the fire and began filling it with meat and vegetables from the horse's packs.

The man watched her for a moment and then whistled into the woods and knelt down to give her a hand.

"Thank you," she said and handed him the peeler for the turnips.

"It's me should be thanking you. Not many people would share their breakfast with someone who tried to behead them."

Emerald smiled suddenly, radiantly, "These are not usual times. Everyone is scared, confused, hungry. It makes people a little bit mad. Trust me, I've seen worse than a scared child."

"I can see that," the man said and gestured to Raven lying prone on the ground. "That's not just a deep sleep, is it?"

Emerald shook her head, trying to stop the morose look she knew had darted across her face.

"Do you have a name?" she asked him as she put the pot of what was now soup back over the flame.

"They call me the Hunter. That's what I was doing the day of... on the first day. What about you?"

Emerald gave him a curious look.

"What were you doing when we... began?"

She smiled again, "I was at a party. In a glorious emerald dress."

She threw the turnips he'd peeled into the pot and leant back on her heels.

"That's the worst about this, isn't it?" he asked her; rhetorically, she suspected.

She shook her head; not getting his meaning.

"It should be liberating, forgetting everything we were. But even in this new world, we're still treated as what we were born."

"You sound like Raven."

"Raven?"

"My friend. He...," she gave him a sideways look and considered whether she should tell him anything. She'd only just met him but judging character quickly was a skill she'd had to finesse recently.

"He discovered he has magic. Maybe magic that can help us. But this spell – the spell that has taken our memories – it's designed to suppress magic. Once he used it, the spell knocked him out. He regained consciousness once, briefly, but then..."

There was a scuffled shuffling of the leaves and a dirty young woman came toward the fire, sat down and grabbed a piece of bread from its wax wrapper.

"This is Waif," Hunter said, "Waif, this is Emerald."

Waif nodded once and then sniffed appreciatively at the soup.

Emerald regarded her for a minute and then took a piece of dried meat from the saddlebags.

"The soup will be nicer but this should tide you over," she said, "I can see how hungry you are."

Waif looked suspiciously at the meat and then grabbed it with one filthy hand and took a large bite.

Hunter looked as though he was going to chastise her for poor manners but then didn't; a fact that told Emerald all she needed to know.

"I have some medicines with me," she said, "if something could be done."

Hunter shook his head and rubbed his crown where she must have been injured.

"Bandits?" Emerald mouthed while the girl's head was down.

He nodded and Emerald cursed Gaius for bringing this upon them.

She let the soup simmer for as long as she dared before taking it off the fire and ladling it out.

"I'm afraid we have to eat quickly. I am less than a day ahead of an army. They move slowly but I still don't have much time."

She expected a million questions at that pronouncement but Hunter simply surveyed her calmly and then nodded.

"Where are you and your magical friend headed?"

"Mercia. A neighbouring kingdom. I hope that once we get there we can stop this war. Assuming they haven't been struck down by the same curse we have."

"I don't know this Mercia. But I have not met a single person since this began who had their memories."

"Well, I have and he will pay for what he has done to us. One way or another."

"Then I will come with you."

"That's... very kind but..."

"You are obviously very capable but if you think your friend can help then he needs to be protected. We can help you. It's the least we can do."

Waif took a messy spoonful of soup, swallowed and nodded vigorously.

Emerald hesitated for a moment and then began packing up the camp.

* * *

Galloping quickly on three horses Arthur, Blankie, Guin, the Blacksmith and the Washerwoman sped after their friends.

Behind them, an army of twenty thousand took its first determined step.

And overhead, just audible above the thumping boots, came the joyous, victorious shriek of a crow.


	15. Chapter 15

_**A/N Thank you so much to Miffstery for the beta. **_

* * *

**Chapter 15**

The place on her head where the first men had struck her still hurt. She felt it sometimes and with it the strange and uncertain sense of loss that came with it. She somehow knew - in the small still part of her that still survived - that her mind had been diminished in the same way her body had been diminished by their cruelties. And there had been little but cruelty in her life since it had begun.

She remember it dimly. That day. The sudden sense of dislocation – not that dislocation was a word that was or had ever been in her vocabulary – and her first thought. She'd looked down at the bare feet, the simple dress, the small bundle of kindling in her arms and thought, surprised, this is me. But she hadn't spoken because there'd been nobody to speak to. So she'd never know for sure.

She'd barely time to wander far before the first men came. And that was life. For her. That had been all she knew.

The second man had called her Waif. The first men were cowards and so he had easily made them go away. He wasn't like the first men. He was kind. An instinctive, sensible kindness that seemed to draw on something deep within her. Something buried, like her voice. The second man seemed to think Waif a fitting name and she thought that maybe she agreed; although sounds and movements and time seemed to flicker past her now. Sometimes, words and deeds would peal through her with a clarity that frightened; like a short sharp shock of sensation. Other times her head would turn to a wind-tossed bush or a shrieking, screeching crow and then the sun would be going down and food would be in her hand and she'd have no memory of how.

Maybe it was because of the first men and that tender, bloody place on the back of her skull. Maybe she'd been like that since the beginning. Which wasn't very long, after all.

She'd followed the kind man. And he'd found the kind lady. And those times when she found herself once again forward further in her life then her memories attested, she was safe. The first men could not get her anymore. Not here. That was enough.

* * *

She wondered where the day went. The birds were brawling beautifully over their territory in the late twilight when she took the last few sweaty steps from the road into a small sheltered clearing.

She dismounted and tied her horse up to a tree; tugging Raven's body gently off the packhorse and laying it on a softer patch of weeds and small yellow flowers. As the cacophony increased, she smiled wryly at the musicality of bird battles. If only human fights could have such beauty.

Hunter and the Waif followed her through the brush, covering their path with branches as they came.

"There's still time," Hunter said, "I can get us some meat if you build a fire."

Emerald shook her head tiredly, "The army marched this morning. We can't know how far they've come so we can't risk cooking. Or splitting up."

"There are twenty thousand of them," Hunter argued, "they can hardly have marched..."

"Scouts," countered Emerald simply. She sat back against a tree and closed her eyes a moment. The baking late afternoon sun shot needles into her head and the blooming headache that resulted began to pump in her ears.

"I'm so tired," she admitted finally. She looked at Raven's body lying prone in the grass and at her strange companions and shook her head slightly, "and I'm such a fool."

Waif unceremoniously kicked her and she laughed slightly in spite of herself.

"Sorry. I don't mean to be defeatist."

She reached out her hand and pushed a lock of Raven's hair back from his ghostly face.

"If he doesn't wake up soon… well… then my plan involves dragging a body across the border and hoping. How is that not foolish?"

Hunter crouched down beside her and looked at her seriously.

"How far away is this border of yours?"

"I'm not sure. But we should be there soon."

"Then maybe we should push on. Right now. No rest. No food. Just keep walking. At least once we cross the border, we'll know."

"We'll go soon," she promised him, "but I need some rest first."

He grunted and left it at that. She was glad that tiredness was something she did not have to feign. It meant she didn't have to tell him the real reason she had hesitated. He was accepting enough on faith as it was without her telling him she felt she needed to dream first. She hadn't the night before and that had worried her. It was as though she needed Raven to make it... work. He was the one with magic, it was true, but she had shared his dreams and that had meant something.

She didn't feel she could tell Hunter – gruff, pragmatic Hunter – that. What had Raven said? As a plan, going to sleep was somewhat underwhelming.

Nonetheless, she lay back against the rough bark, the stones and twigs biting into her back along with the remorseless ants, and she slept. And as she fell into that darkness, a small unknown part of her wiggled its way from her mind and whispered, "_Merlin_".

* * *

Gauis and Morgause had barely spied the thick utilitarian walls of Bayard's Keep when they were surrounded by bristling Mercian troops. Their escort to the Throne Room was polite but curt and certainly hurried .Gaius had expected more of an interrogation before being admitted to the heart of the Kingdom but, as he'd been rushed through the main square, he'd noted with concern the signs of mobilisation. Bayard was on the move.

The King was not, as it turned out, in his Throne Room but in the Hall conferencing with his Knights; a scene so reminiscent of Camelot that Gaius was momentarily unsettled by the sky blue surcoats in place of Dragon's red.

"Gaius," Bayard greeted him with equal parts relief, concern and mistrust, "how is that you are here and with your faculties intact?"

"My Lord," Gaius bowed in head in respect, "I am honoured that you remember me." He paused overwhelmed suddenly by sheer absurdity of his story.

"I'm sorry, My Lord," he confessed with a slight smile, "I suddenly have no notion how to begin explaining."

Bayard gestured graciously to a seat at the large rectangular table beside him and with a flick of his finger obtained Gaius a glass of wine. Gaius gratefully took a seat and a sip, marshalling his words while Bayard took a place beside him.

Morgause, seemingly unperturbed by being ignored, stood sternly by; her clear sharp gaze fending off even the most bold or unfriendly stare.

"You seem, My Lord, to be aware of the unnatural…calamity that has plagued our Kingdom."

Bayard nodded, "A wall of magic as high and as wide as we can see descended upon our border several days ago. Those we sent across and those who have wandered through from Camelot have no memory. Not of their families or their vocations or even of themselves. They are… blank slates."

Gaius' eyes flicked to the sorcerer he'd brought with him, considered Bayard's stern position on magic and decided that discretion rather than truth was indeed the better part of valour.

"This is my pupil, Ana. She and I were collecting herbs past the Labyrinth of Gedref when the spell was cast. We are just lucky the Labyrinth seems to be protected from the spell. Some local farmers who wandered out had no memory at all. Thankfully, I was able to determine the nature of the evil at work before I myself decided to return home."

"Thankfully indeed," agreed Bayard, somewhat cautiously. His eyes flicked suspiciously to Morgause standing proudly nearby.

"Your pupil seems remarkably well bred to be picking flowers and cleaning your beakers, Gaius."

"Ana is of a noble family but an impoverished one. As the youngest child of many, her family are simply relieved she has found a vocation. I notice your troops are massed and ready to march, My Lord. Can I assume you plan to launch an assault?"

"I'm sure you can trust the proof of your own eyes," Bayard told him guardedly. "Camelot's troops have marched. We must defend ourselves."

"My Lord," began Gaius, struggling a little to negotiate the political minefield he'd found himself in, "if I may ask..."

"How do you know the troops have marched?" asked Morgause bluntly.

"Excuse me," Bayard said as he fixed his full attention on her.

Gaius raised a warning eyebrow at her tone but she ignored him and soldiered on in characteristic impatience.

"As you yourself have informed us, none who enter or return from Camelot retain any memories. I believe your exact term was 'blank slate'. So how could you be aware that Camelot's forces have mobilised?"

Bayard's pleasant gaze steeled as he flicked his eyes back to Gaius in dismissal.

"I have little interest in disclosing my intelligence assets to a glorified serving girl. And you should teach your students better, Gaius."

Morgause struggled slightly with her nature and then inclined her head toward the monarch in a gesture of conciliation.

"I apologise at my tone, My Lord. But I hope you will consider my question as it was asked. Please do not let my impertinence detract from what is an important consideration. I... Gaius and I have had the luxury of reflection and it appears to m... us... that there is a malevolent force here that wants war. I would hope that a man of intelligence and education as yourself would consider the... the possibility that..."

"Someone has cast a spell on Camelot, child," responded Bayard with some softening of his manner, "and that spell has led our friendly neighbour to mobilise twenty thousand men against us. Motives and manipulations can no longer be my concern. My Kingdom is under attack and I must defend myself."

"Of course you must," interceded Gaius. "However..."

Morgause gave a grunt of impatience and, despite her best efforts to control her temper, interrupted him.

"My Lord Bayard," she began, hoping the title would soften her inevitable bluntness," Camelot, with no memory even of your existence, has somehow been convinced to attack you. And despite the magic that borders your land, you have somehow been warned of the threat even though no one leaving that land has the ability to tell you. Whoever has done this...,"

"You act as if I'm not aware of the situation," said Bayard gently, "I clearly am. But I have a moral authority to protect my kingdom. If someone attacks, I defend."

"...wants violence," she continued as though he had not spoken, "and has gone to great trouble to instigate it. I beg you..."

"Enough. I cannot abdicate my responsibilities to my people and my Kingdom simply because it may also serve another's agenda. Camelot attacks. I defend. That's all I can do. And I am too busy to deal with upstarts, even if they are accompanied by an old friend."

"My Lord," Gaius began.

"No. My guards will take you to some accommodations until this crisis is over. I ask you to stay there and to keep your pupil's tongue under control."

Morgause's jaw tightened momentarily but, to Gauis' relief, she allowed the guards to escort her from the room along with the old physician. If they were going to get Bayard to cooperate with their plan they were going to need a better tactic. Or at least a better argument.

* * *

This time the dream was so familiar she knew it was a dream. Even as she walked those empty, cold-stone halls in her Emerald dress, the corvine chittering on her shoulder, she knew the frigid corridors of Camelot were the forest around her sleeping body and the glimmering fabric the serviceable trousers and rough flex shirt she really wore.

For a moment, the illusion shifted and she was awake in a flying dream; soaring over the land she called home. And then the dream was again the place she knew, rather than remembered, as her home.

"Morgana." The voice like the wind through the draughty hallways seemed like her own and she turned her head slightly before whipping it back to the door that was now in front of her. If she concentrated, she realised, she could see the crack where the door had appeared; see the jagged edge where her mind had papered in the door's appearance.

She pushed it lightly and found herself in a lush suite; familiar in its opulence, strewn bedclothes and wealth of dresses.

"Beautiful," cawed the raven.

"Death," she replied, her eyes alighting on the man supine on her bed in rich robes of black and blue. "This is a dream."

"You act as if that matters." The voice appeared in her mind, sonorous and supercilious and... familiar. Familiar in the way the supine body was familiar. Familiar in the same way as this room. Her eyes flicked to the man.

"Beautiful," she said, thoughtfully.

"Death," croaked the raven in response.

"No," she argued. "That's not..."

She shook her head as though literal cobwebs could be shaken from her figurative head.

"This is my dream," she said calmly, deliberately. "I realise that now. This was always my dream. He's only here because I let him be, want him to be. And yet... there's someone else. That voice... No. No, this is me. This is all me."

She scanned the room and shook her head at the detail; the sturdy hand-crafted furniture, the giant wardrobe, the baubles and bangles and jewellery and the small stone dragon grinning from her dresser.

"It's time to stop being vague," she told herself sternly, "As much as I admire my apparent gift for extended metaphor it's time I told myself _what the hell is going on_."

An image shimmered at the edge of her vision and she saw herself – beauty and defiance with a touch of arrogance and self-doubt – standing in the room but somehow also absent. A waif.

"It's your song, Morgana," the mirage whispered, "You do not have to dance to anybody else's tune."

"They may be the beat but you are the drum. They may set the steps but you are the dance. They may be the battle but you are death."

The vision gestured to Raven sprawled on their unmade bed.

"And you certainly don't dance alone."

"And the other voice?"

The door to her wardrobe swung open and a stair appeared, heading down into a darkness so black she shivered at the thought of it touching her bare arms. As she took a tentative step through, she heard a dry rustling and the clink of chains. A faint drop in the distance suggested water strained through rock and dripping through onto stone.

"I'm waiting." The voice, low and as transparent as the breeze that carried it, rumbled through the slick stone steps beneath her feet as she...

...she woke up.

* * *

Belatucadrus walked away from his army. The twenty thousand men had stopped and sprawled across the rolling hills of Camelot needing to rest. He stepped into a clearing, drew the circle around him and took a deep breath of dust and humidity as it flared around him.

_My love_, he called, _your will is nearly done. Your war has begun._


	16. Chapter 16

_**Thanks to Miffstery for the beta**_

**Chapter 16**

The door to her wardrobe swung open and a stair appeared, heading down into a darkness so black she shivered at the thought of it touching her bare arms. As she took a tentative step through, she heard a dry rustling and the clink of chains. A faint drop in the distance suggested water strained through rock and dripping through onto stone.

"I'm waiting." The voice, low and as transparent as the breeze that carried it, rumbled through the slick stone steps beneath her feet as she...

...she woke up.

She felt the sword before she even had time to open her eyes. She rolled sideways; her instincts kicking in before her intellect had even begun to assess the situation.

The man above her – sword in hand and chain mail glinting in the setting sun – was clad in Camelot red, the dragon fiery on his chest.

She kicked out her legs to crack his kneecap and he hit the ground with a surprised grunt. Her hand scrabbled for a rock and she felt one roll into her hand just as Uther's man brought himself up on one knee, sword ready.

She smashed the hard brown weapon into his skull and he hit the dirt again, dropping his sword as he did so. She scooped it up, her muscles remembering what her mind did not and circled to a crouch; her eyes flicking quickly over the scene. She saw Hunter swing his axe at another soldier and barely registered it shatter bluntly into his brain when a flash of red between the trees drew her attention to the forest around them.

She crouched down and furiously gestured to Hunter who kicked the corpse off his weapon and covered the distance between them with the stealth of a lifetime spent in those woods.

"I'm so sorry, My Lady," he whispered quickly as he settled down beside her.

"You went hunting," she stated flatly. "They're a scouting party."

"Five," Hunter admitted. "I thought I'd lost them but obviously led them right back here. I'm so sorry. I just thought…"

"Waif?" Emerald cut him off. She had little interest in regret or blame while trained killers had them flanked.

"Has survived much more than this. I'm sure she's gone to ground."

Emerald sighed and looked at Raven's body beside her.

"We don't have that option. They will keep searching. And an unconscious man is hard to hide."

"Then we fight," said Hunter softly.

She gave a noncommittal sound that, in someone other than a Lady, could be considered a grunt and cast him a resigned look.

"I got lucky. I was asleep so he wasn't expecting me to fight back. I won't get that advantage again."

"What do you suggest?"

She closed her eyes briefly, trying to clear her raging thoughts.

"I think that…"

A small snapping sound was the only warning as the two of the remaining scouts came out of the brush behind them like charging boars; bristling and armed and lethal.

Emerald lifted the sword and twisted to face the new attack; her ankle twisting and snapping as it unexpectedly hit rock. The pain blossomed up her leg and she stumbled; tripping over Raven and smashing her elbow on a branch as she fell. The sword flew from her grasp against every ounce of will she used to keep it in her hand and she lay prone across him; her limbs betraying her as her joints screamed.

She saw the sword in the dirt before her but, as she found the strength to reach for it, a boot kicked it from her grip. She rolled off Raven and tried to stand; her leg collapsing under even the tentative weight she put on it.

She looked up at the soldier and saw him grit his teeth to force a look of determination into his eyes. Hazel, she noticed randomly, and a smooth face. Not young nor old. And not a killer, by nature, but one determined to follow his orders nonetheless. He gripped both hands around his pommel and raised the weapon above his head.

Flicking at the corner of her vision, she saw Hunter; a sword sliding through his gut from behind. She saw Waif leaping from the trees onto a soldier's back and being launched off into a pine tree. She lay silent on the ground, blood pooling from the new wound on her skull that replaced the one she'd had when Emerald had met her. Blood smeared dark on her shirt. A knife wound through her heart.

Time slowed down, somehow, as though the Gods wanted her to have one last perfect memory of her existence. Her life, she supposed, might have flashed before her eyes but since most of hers was a blank, it was a few mere seconds of bliss, confusion, anger and terror in equal measure.

Something surged through her. Like a memory. Like a dream. Like Raven on that first day. Burst forth like a geyser of liquid power. Something cracked open and one hand reached Raven's while the other raised itself toward the man above her.

A blue light shot forth, the force of the explosion crackling through her fingertips, and she registered the shock in her attacker's hazel eyes as it smacked into his chest, slamming him across the clearing and into a tree.

Before thought could disrupt her concentration, she turned the same force against the other attacker holding Waif down in Hunter's blood and choking the life out of the poor damaged girl.

This time, the light turned red and savage and it tore a hole in him as it lifted him toward the sky.

"If you don't want the same treatment, then I suggest you leave," she yelled hoarsely at the surrounding trees. "Do you hear me? Leave!"

When the inevitable blackness overwhelmed her, she could only hope he'd heeded her warning. Or she and Raven would never wake up and not just because she'd used magic.

Magic.

_I have magic_, she thought briefly as the darkness rushed toward her. _How extraordinary._

The Prat, Moor and Blankie - or, when Arthur was feeling his most stubborn, Prince Arthur, Guinevere and some servant who no one seemed to notice still didn't have a name – reigned in their horses in the dwindling light and considered their options vis a vis making camp for the night.

The small group had been almost silent during their determined ride across the Kingdom; finding themselves with surprisingly little to talk about now the decision to act has been made.

Maybe not so surprising, thought Guin, as she swung from her steed and stretched in the fading bands of sunlight. They only had this, after all. This… mission. Even her brief sense of connection to Blankie now seemed irrational or at least inadvisable. She didn't know him, after all.

Her emotions had been tugged so many ways in these short days of her life that she felt momentarily adrift on an ocean of them. How had Emerald known such certainty, she wondered. She'd looked at Raven and just _knew_.

The horse beside her snorted suddenly and pawed the ground in distress. She turned her head sharply to try to find the cause and felt Arthur tense and Blankie freeze.

"What is it?" she whispered. "What's happened?"

"Blood," said Arthur, tersely. He dismounted, gestured at his two companions to stay where they were and headed toward the coppery scent on the evening air. He crashed back to them quickly and gestured at them to move forward quietly.

The three of them pushed through the brush and Guin and Blankie gasped at the sight of Emerald and Raven lying insensate in the clearing.

Guin took in her two unconscious friends, the gutted man and child, and the four dead soldiers and ran for a nearby bush. Blankie pulled her hair back from her face and put his remaining arm around her shoulder as she vomited up everything she'd eaten that day.

"Are they…?" She collapsed down onto the dirt and tied her wayward hair back; the taste of ashes in her mouth. Unable to finish the sentence.

Arthur performed a hasty examination and shook his head, obviously relieved.

"Just unconscious."

"What do we do?" Blankie asked as he continued to comfort Guin.

Arthur sat down beside them and looked briefly lost.

"I don't…"

He raked his hands through his dirty-blonde hair and tried to think.

"We came here to help them," Guin said suddenly. "So we do."

Arthur shook his head as though he hadn't heard her and Blankie just gave her a blank, disoriented stare.

"We need to get them across the border. That was the plan, wasn't it?"

She stood up on shaky legs, leant against a tree for a moment and then rallied.

"Well? Wasn't that the plan? Go to Mercia. Warn them. Get the one with magic across the border at the same time?"

"Guin…" began Blankie, softly.

"They're _both_ unconscious," said Arthur. "How do you explain that? Raven and Emerald were the ones who… how do we explain this to Mercia?"

"I _don't_. _We_ don't. We get them across the border and we take it from there. Arthur, this plan is no more of a gamble now then it was before. Now you both get up, get them on the horses and let's move."

"But…"

"Now, Arthur! No camp. No breaks. Just move."

"Fine. Gods. I'm getting up. I am a Prince, you know. I would think that was deserving of at least a nod to some respect."

"Arthur, I don't have time for your ego o your... search for identity," Guin said tiredly, "or to work out... royal niceties or how we are or are not supposed to talk to each other. I'm sorry if I was curt. Now can we please go?"

Guin and Blankie swapped an annoyed if slightly amused look as Arthur began to load up the horses and Guin felt the small spark of connection again.

All three of them found their eyes drifting to the six mangled bodies in the clearing and then at each other. Arthur looked at the stars beginning to appear in the sky and gave a resigned shrug.

"Let's go," he said simply. "If we keep up this pace, we'll be in Mercia by dawn."

The three of them turned their backs on the massacre and hurried away. None looked back.

It was dark and cold and silent at first. Like a void. A sink of non-existence: nothingness. He thought, _maybe I've chosen nihilism._ And then he thought _annihilation precludes thought_. _By definition. _Then he thought he thought too much. Then he thought he should stop thinking and _feel_.

There was a drip there in the darkness, he realised. Had been since the beginning. Whenever that was. The cold steady drip of fresh water on stone. Somehow ancient. Somehow familiar.

After a while, and with much concentration, he heard a metallic clink and felt the hard damp stone through his light shirt. Or at least he _believed_ he did. _I know this place_, he thought. _How long have I been here?_

"Time."

A voice spoke near his ear, sending a shock through his reawakened nervous system.

"What an interesting thought – under the circumstances at least."

"What do you mean?" he managed as he located things that might be his limbs. _Or perhaps not._

"Time requires memory," the voice answered, "And that, young warlock, is the one thing that you don't have."

"Time?" he asked as he struggled to sit up and get his bearings. "Or memory?"

"I'm sure I just established they're the same thing." The voice almost sounded amused. "History is dead. Long live eternity. Comforting, really. Everything happening in a perpetual now. At least until you have to make a decision."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he said tiredly. He levered his body off the smooth, cool floor. His eyes were still blurry in the dim light but he thought he could see teeth and glittering giant eyes.

_Raven._ He clutched at the name but then his confused mind gave him another. _Merlin_.

"Knowledge is power," the familiar voice continued, "In this case, literally so."

"What are you?" Raven finally snarked. "The subconscious cliché fairy? Did I create you to be this annoying? Or is this real?"

"Not a distinction that matters. A dream is a world you enter that has no past and no future. How is that any different from your real world?"

"Semantics." Raven waved his hand in dismissal and then wondered if the reptilian presence could even see his gesture.

"I agree."

Raven got his feet underneath him and stood up slowly; his head and vision clearing as he did so. Candles flared and revealed the cavern, the rock, the manacle, the scaled leg it wrapped around and the…

"Gods," Raven gasped, "You're a dragon."

"Even here," the lizard seemed almost to lament, "where I could have been anything. I needed a way in and this was the only one I could find."

Raven considered all the ways he'd already expressed his confusion and annoyance at the beast's vague pronouncements and chose silence instead.

"There are things you must know but, as you have already discovered, the spell is keeping magic suppressed. Her dreams are fuelled by magic, as are mine. You have been warned many times but the knowledge stays with your true memories. Buried."

Raven nodded, glad the monster was finally making some sense.

"I think there is a way to uncover them," he noted, "but…"

"You need magic." The lizard nodded. "A true conundrum."

"Wait," Raven rubbed his head as his brain finally fizzed into action. "Are you outside Camelot? How do you have your memories?"

"I _am_ magic. The dream is all I've had since the spell was cast. Although it is less of a spell than it is an… an imposition of will. A weight of magic driven as much by personality as it is by power."

"Who could be that powerful?" Raven asked, appalled.

"None that I know of," the dragon conceded. "To maintain the loss of memory so completely, not just of a simple event or polarising incident but of an entire Kingdom over such a period of time… none that walk as mortals on this Earth."

"Then how is this even possible?"

"There is perhaps one explanation, although their motives are well beyond my comprehension."

"Who then?"

"A god, maybe. Maybe one of the old ones. As to why – that is not a question I can answer. No logical reason comes to mind. But then," the giant snaked his head toward him and gave him a somewhat ironic smile, "no one would argue the motives of Gods should be logical."

"A god?" Raven sat back down and cupped his head in his long, calloused fingers, "How can I fight a God?"

"Not alone, although it pains me to say it."

Raven wrenched his fingers through his jet black hair and gave the cavern a defiant look.

"Emerald," he concluded, "You mean Emerald."

"She is coming," said the dragon. "It took her longer but she is nearly here. Sleep was not enough. You needed…"

"Magic," Raven concluded, "We needed to access our magic. To be thrown into the depths with you. That means Emerald wields it too. No wonder Gaius moved against us. Apart we're an annoyance, but together…"

He gave the beast a wide, delighted grin, "This means we can fight, can't it? Together.

He laughed, "This means we can win."

"Reinvention has sharpened your mind, Warlock," said the dragon; an unfamiliar inflection in his voice. "And your spirit. Interesting."

The dragon's eyes glittered and he seemed momentarily both cunning and annoyed. Raven thought he saw wheels turning in the ancient brain; moving mental pieces around as he considered a new variable in some grander scheme. He opened his mouth to question his interlocutor. And then…

"At last," he purred. "You're here."


End file.
